"I am sitting, foolish mortal," said she, in tones of deep commiseration, "on a soft, thick cushion of moss--much more comfortable, I imagine, than hard, flat rocks. And the nice warm sun is shining on me--it must be rather chilly in the woods to-day. And there is a breeze blowing from the Big Horn--old rocks are always damp and stuffy in the shade. And I am looking away out over the Hills--I hope some people enjoy the sight of piles of quartzite." "Cruel sun fairy!" cried Bennington. "Why do you tantalize me so with the delights from which you debar me? What have I done?" There was a short silence. "Can't you think of anything you've done?" asked the voice, insinuatingly. Bennington's conscience-stricken memory stirred. It did not seem so ridiculous, under the direct charm of the fresh young voice that came down through the summer air from above, like a dove's note from a treetop, to apologize to Lawton's girl. The incongruity now was in forcing into this Arcadian incident anything savouring of conventionality at all. It had been so idyllic, this talk of the sun fairy and the cloud; so like a passage from an old book of legends, this dainty episode in the great, strong, Western breezes, under the great, strong, Western sky. Everything should be perfect, not to be blamed. "Do sun fairies accept apologies?" he asked presently, in a subdued voice. "They might." "This particular sun fairy is offered one by a man who is sorry." "Is it a good big one?" "Indeed, yes." The head appeared over the edge of the rock, inspected him gravely for a moment, and was withdrawn. "Then it is accepted," said the voice. "Thank you!" he replied sincerely. "And now are you going to let down your rope ladder, or whatever it is? I really want to talk to you." "You are so persistent!" cried the petulant voice, "and so foolish! It is like a man to spoil things by questionings!" He suddenly felt the truth of this. One can not talk every day to a sun fairy, and the experience can never be repeated. He settled back on the rock. "Pardon me, Sun Fairy!" he cried again. "Rope ladders, indeed, to one who has but to close her eyes and she finds herself on a downy cloud near the sun. My mortality blinded me!" "Now you are a nice boy," she approved more contentedly, "and as a reward you may ask me one question." "All right," he agreed; and then, with instinctive tact, "What do you see up there?" He could hear her clap her hands with delight, and he felt glad that he had followed his impulse to ask just this question instead of one more personal and more in line with his curiosity. "Listen!" she began. "I see pines, many pines, just the tops of them, and they are all waving in the breeze. Did you ever see trees from on top? They are quite different. And out from the pines come great round hills made all of stone. I think they look like skulls. Then there are breathless descents where the pines fall away. Once in a while a little white road flashes out."