88 MY DEVON YEAR 



by defeating man's. But of these things to the girl 

 I had no heart to speak. 



" Us shall get a gert, wonnerful crop this year — so 

 father hopes. I'll pick 'e a dinky piece for your 

 buttonhole if you mind to, though 'tis treason to 

 pluck it." 



It was an offer made because we were old friends. 



"Take the flowers to one who would value them 

 more," I said, and she understood very well, and 

 nodded and broke a spray unfolding, and pinned it to 

 her own breast until it should adorn another's when 

 evening came. 



" 'Tis lovely, come to think of it," she murmured, 

 looking at the opening buds, whose yellow anthers 

 peeped from each pure chalice. She lifted the spray 

 to her face and kissed it — such a kiss as flowers might 

 give each other. The sudden discovery of this loveli- 

 ness in the blossoms made her silent for a moment ; 

 but soon we talked again, and hope was in our voices. 



Presently she bade me farewell, then went upon her 

 way with a little purring laugh. Happiness and 

 content passed with her ; in her tone was uncon- 

 scious praise ; in her love of the blossom, unconscious 

 worship. 



So, fittingly into an orchard planted with hands, this 

 maiden thus came, and from thought of wood-fairies, 

 she led me to the men and women whose hopes 

 centred here, to the fruit whose prosperity would 

 lighten and whose failure would cloud their human 

 hearts. And at last, as warm light touched the glory 



