i6 
LAND & WATER 
January 3, iqiS 
and took tho air that lielped to make him wliole. In spite of 
the cloud;;, however, the day \va> wami, and calm, as with a 
touch still ol lingering summer. He watched the sea of roofs 
and spires in blue haze below him ; he heard the muffled roar 
of countless distant streets. 
" Big place, that," he mentioned, pointing with his stick. 
There was an assumed carelessness that did not aitosjether hide 
a certain shyness. " Some town — eh ? " 
" London, yes. It's huge, isn't it ? " 
" I-ondon. . . ." he repeated, turning to look at her 
quickly. He said no more. The word sounded strange; the 
way he said it — new. He looked away again. No, he decided 
she was not inventing just to humour him ; tliat was the real 
name, right enough. .She wasn't " pulling his leg." But 
the name amused him somehow ; he rather liked it. 
" Mary," he said, " now, that's a nice name too." 
" And so is Jack," she answered, whereupon the shyness 
again descended over him, and he said no more. Besides, 
the change he had noticed a moment ago, was becoming more 
marked, he thought, and he wished to obser\'c it close!)'. For 
in some odd way it thrilled him. 
It began, so far as iie could judge, somewhere in the air 
above him, \'ery high indci'd, while yet its effect did not stay 
there, but spread gently downwards, including everything 
about him. From the sky, at any rate, it first stole downwards; 
and it was hi^J extreme sensiti\'eness which made him realise 
ne.\t that it came from a particular cpiarter of the sky : In the 
eastern heavens it had its origin. He was sure of this ; and 
the thrill of wonder, faint but marvellously sweet, stirred 
through his expectant being. He waited and watched in 
silence for a long time. Since Mary showed no interest, he 
must enjov it alone. Indeed, she had not even noticed it at 
all. 
Yet none of these people about him had noticed it either. 
Some of them were walking a little faster than before, hurrying 
almost, but no one looked up to see what was happening : 
there were no signs of surprise anywhere. " Everybody must 
have forgotten I " he thought to himself, when his mind gave 
a sudden twitch. Forgotten ! Forgotten what ? He mo\-ed 
abruptly, and the girl's hand stole into his, though she said 
no word. He was aware that she was watching him closely 
but a trifle surreptitiously he fancied. 
He did not speak, but his wonder deepened. This " some- 
thing " from the eastern sky descended slowly, vet so slovvlv 
that the change from one minute to another was not measur- 
able. It was soft as a dream and very subtle ; it was full of 
n^ysterj'. Comfort, and a sense of pe'ace stole over him, his 
sight w^as eased, he had mild thoughts of sleep. Like a whisper 
the imperceptible change came drifting through the air. It 
was exquisite. But it was the wonder that woke the thrill in 
him. 
" Something h up, you know," he repeated, though more 
to^ himself than to his companion. " You can't mistake it. 
It's all over the place ! " He drew a deeper breath, pointing 
again with his stick over the blue haze where tall chimneys 
and needle spires pierced. " Bv Jove," he added, " it's like 
a \eil— gauze, 1 mean — or something — eh ? " .\nd the light 
drawing itself behind the veil, grew less, while his pulses 
quickened as he watched it fade. 
Her gentle reply that it was time to go home to tea, and 
somethmg else about the cooling air, again failed to satisfy 
Inni, but he was pleased that she slipped her arm into his and 
made a gesture uncommonlv like a caress. She was so pretty, 
he thought, as he glanced down at her. Only it amazed him 
more and more that no thrill stirred her blood as it stirred his 
own, that there was no surprise, and that the stream of 
passing people hurrying homewards showed no single sign of 
havmg noticed what he noticed. For his heart swelled within 
Inm as he watched, and the change was so magical that it 
•troubled his breath a little'. Hard outHnes^ everywhere 
. melted softly against a pale blue sea that held tints of mother- 
of-pearl ; there was a flush of gold, subdued to amber, a liaze 
a glow, a burning. 
This strange thing stealing out of the cast brought a 
wonder that he could not name, a wonder that was new and 
fresh and sw^et as though experienced for the first time. For 
his mind qualified the beautv that possessed him, qualified it 
m this wa_\', because-this puzzled him— it was not quite 
experienced for the first time." It was old, old as himself • 
jt was familiar. ... 
.^^'P,'^^ }-^"^ K' h^ -thought, " I've got that rummy feeling 
that I ve been through all this before -somewhere," and his 
mind gave another sudden twitch, wliich, again, he did not 
recognise as a memor.\-. A spot was touched, a string was 
twanged, now here, now there, while Beautv, plaving softlv 
on his soul, communicated to his being gradually" her secrc^t 
rhythm, old as the world, but young ever in each heart that 
answers to it. Below, behind, the thrill, these deeply buried 
strings began to vibrate. . . . .-. ., " 
" The dusk is falling, sec," the girl said quietly, " It's time 
we were going back." 
" Dusk," he repieated, vaguely, " the fltisk ; : ; falling 
..." It was half a question. A new expression flashed 
into his eyes, then vanished instantly. Tears, he saw, were 
standing in her own. She had felt, had noticed, after all, then ! 
The disappointment, and with it the shyness, left him ; he 
was no moj'c ashamed of the depth and strength of this feel- 
ing that thrilled through him so imperioush'. 
But it was after tea that the mysterious change took hold 
upon his being with a power that could build a throne anew, 
then set its rightful occupant thereon.. By his special wish 
the lights were not turned on. Before the great windows, 
opened to the mild autumn air, he sat in his big over-coat and 
watched. 
The change, meanwhile, had ripened. It lay now full- 
blown upon the earth and heavens. Towards the sky 
he turned his eyes. The change, whose first delicate ad%'ent 
he had noticed, sat now enthroned above the world. The 
tops of trees were level with his window-sill, and below lay 
the countless distant streets, not slumbering, he felt surely, 
but gazing upwards with him into this deep sea of blackness 
that had purple for its lining and wore ten thousand candles 
blazing in mid-air. Those lights were not turned out ; and 
this time he wondered why he had thought they might be, 
ought to be, turned out. This question definitely occurred 
to him a moment, while he watched the great footsteps of the 
searchlights passing over space. . . . 
The amazing shafts of white moved liked angels lighting up 
one group of golden points upon another. They lit them and 
swerved on again. In sheer delight, he lay in his chair and 
watched them, these rushing footsteps, these lit groups of gold. 
They, the golden points, were motionless, steady ; they did 
not move or change. And his eyes fastened upon one, then, 
that seemed to burn more brightl}' than the rest. Though 
differing from the others in size alone, he thought it more 
beautiful than all. Below it far, far down in the west, lay a 
streak of faded fire, as though a curtain with one edge upturned 
hung above distant furnaces. But this trail of the sunset his 
mind did not recognise. His eye returned to the point of light 
that seemed every minute increasingly familiar, and iriore 
than familiar — most kindly and well-loved. He yearned 
towards it, he trembled. Sitting forward in his chair, he 
leaned upon the window-sill, staring with an intensity as if he 
would rise through the purple dark and touch it. Then, 
suddenly, it— twinkled. 
"By Jove!" he exclaimed aloud, "I know that chap. 
It's— it's— Now, where the devil did I see it before ? \Vhere- 
ever was it. . ,' . ? " 
He sank back, as a scene rose before his inner eye. It must 
have been, apparently, his " inner ". eye, for both his outer 
eyes were tightly closed as if he slept. But he did not sleep ; 
it was merely that he saw something that was even more familiar 
though not less wonderful, than these other sights. 
Upon a dewy lawn at twilight two children played together, 
while a white-capped figure, from the window of a big house 
in the background, called loudly to them that it was time to 
come in doors and make themselves ready for bed. He saw 
two Lebanon cedars, the kitchen-garden wall beyond, the elms 
and haystacks further still, looming out of the 'summer dusk. 
He smelt pinks, sweet-william, roses. He ran full speed to 
catch his companion, a girl in_ar short tumbled frock, and 
knew that he was dressed as a soldier, with a wooden sword and 
a triangular paper hat that fell off, much to his annoyance, as 
he ran. But he caught his prisoner. Leading her by the 
hair towards the house, his G.H.O., he saw the evening star 
" simply shining like anything " in the pale glow of the western 
sky. But in the hall, when reached, the butler's long wax 
taper, as he slowly lit the big candles, threw a gleam upon his 
prisoner's laughing face, and it was, he saw, his sister's face. 
He opened his eyes again and saw the point of light against 
the purple curtain that hung above the world. It twinkled, 
ihe wonder and the thrill coursed through his heart again, 
but this time another thing had come to join them, and was 
rising to his brain. " By Jove, I know that chap ! " he 
repeated. " It's old Venus, or I'm a dug-out 1 " 
And when, a moment later, the door opened and his com- 
panion entered, saying something about its being time for 
l)cd, because the " night has come "—he looked into her face 
with a smile : " I'm quite ready, Mary," he said, " but 
where in the world have you been" to all this time ? " 
With regret we have to announce that the Rev. R. Monteith 
Ji.J., who contributed recently to Laxd & W.\ter a most interest- 
ing scientific article on the flight of projectiles, was killed in 
attending devotedly to his duties in an advanced dressing station 
in France a few weeks ago. Father Monteith was a brilliant mathe- 
matician, and after entering the Priesthood was chiefly employed 
in teaching, where he was notably successful. He was the second 
son ol the late Mr. Joseph Monteith, of Cranley, Carstairs, and 
the third brother to fall in the warl. Three other brothers are 
.still serviu" ■ • 
