166 LAST 



trout dimpling the surface of the deep 

 pools that reflected the green of the 

 overhanging foliage, and listened to the 

 measured plashing of the old water-mill 

 down in the wooded gorge. They felt 

 no desire to talk. A deep, eternal love 

 is always silent, because there is no lan- 

 guage by which it can be expressed. 

 Yet in that silence there lies a sympathy 

 and complete understanding that speaks 

 more fully, more lovingly, than any 

 words. 



At last the boy said, " Do you know 

 what I believe?" 



"No!" 



"That I knew you and you knew me 

 ages before we ever saw each other." 



"You are a funny boy," she replied, 

 smiling. " What can make you think of 

 such things ?" 



But without attempting to answer 

 the question, he went on: "I'm sure 

 you and I were daisies, or buttercups. 



