THE CONVICT TRAIL W9 



from dense and from open jungle, to keep tryst 

 for this silent, somnolent communion. I rose 

 quietly and passed carefully from the glade, 

 disturbing none of the paper-thin silhouettes, so 

 like the foliage in outward seeming, yet so indi- 

 vidual, each perhaps with dim dreams of flowers 

 and little meetings and wind tossings; certainly 

 with small adventures awaiting their awakening 

 on the morrow, and a very certain kismet such 

 a short way ahead. 



Two weeks after this, only three butterflies 

 came to the glade, one newly painted, freshly 

 emerged, the other two old and tattered and 

 very weary. 



I loitered on my homeward way and before 

 I reached Kalacoon found myself in the Convict 

 Trail in full moonhght. At one turn of the 

 path a peculiar tinkling reached my ear. It 

 was a veritable silver wire of sound — so high, 

 so tenuous that one had to think as well as 

 listen to keep it in audible focus. I pushed 

 through a growth of cecropias and at once lost 

 the sound never to hear it again, but in its place 

 there appeared a very wonderful thing — a good- 

 sized tree standing alone and exposed, bathed 

 in full moonlight, and yet gleaming, as brightly 



