“Farrell showed up here Monday with the car and your note. I tried to find out from him what you were up to, but he either didn’t know or exercised a discretion I never credited him with. I hope it is nothing more than sunstroke; folks have been known to recover from that with their minds almost as good as new. Anyhow, I am coming over in a few days to see for myself. I know all about mythology――accent on the _myth_. But look here, no poaching on my preserves! I finished third yesterday on time-allowance; would have done better if I hadn’t carried away my jib at the outer mark. No wind to speak of. Can’t you come on for Saturday’s race? We’ve had the car out once or twice. There’s something wrong with it. Farrell has it in hospital to-day. My compliments to her, but tell her I need you here. “Yours, “_Vincent_.” After supper Ethan drew a chair to the open window of his room, set the lamp precariously on the bureau where the light would fall upon the portfolio in his lap, and replied to Vincent: “My dear Vincent (he wrote), life moves sweetly in Arcadia. Clytie, she who beside her blossom-starred pool has so long gazed, enamored, upon the fiery Apollo, now hearkens to the wooing tones of green-garlanded Vertumnus. No more she fills the leafy hollow with her tears and soft reproaches, but reclined where shading branches defy the sun god’s fiercest rays, she smiles betimes upon Vertumnus. And he, bathing his heart in the warm blue pools of her eyes, forgets and forswears the too-coy Pomona. So, friend, runs the drama of Clytie the dawn-eyed Nymph of the Lotus Pool; of Apollo, radiant and unapproachable Lord of the Sun; and of Vertumnus, humble and enamored God of the Seasons. Friend, for love of me, petition fair Venus to aid my cause! “And now Jove be with you! The night wind steals sweetly through Arcadia’s moonlit glades and bears to my nostrils the heart-stirring fragrance of lily and of lotus. It is Clytie’s breath upon my cheek. Ah, my friend, I weep for you that you can never know the love of a god for a nymph in Arcady! May Somnus, gentlest of the gods, send thee sweet dreams. Farewell. “VERTUMNUS.” “And now, having read this over, I see clearly that it is beyond your understanding, my friend, and so it may be that it will never reach your eyes.” It never did. VIII. It sometimes rains even in Arcady.