Avanel, with eyes fixed and strained, follows the flying book on her winged horse. The book settles into her arms and, though the snow and autumn leaves swirl down and blind me, I see her there above the company, like a fairy in a trance, while the assembled clans and all the citizens gather close to hear every word. The first pages of the volume give a new constitution for the World Government, based on the teachings of Abraham Lincoln. The song in the air praises Avanel and urges her and all she commands to valor for the Heavenly Star Spangled Banner and the Heavenly International Flag. But as for myself, I am sinking to my knees into yesterday, and this is not Fifth and Capital Avenue, for me, for the wind says: “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Then Avanel leans down. She gives her crimson hand to me one moment. She gives me life for this war. This is the day of going forth against Singapore. CHAPTER XVIII HOW SEVEN YEARS AFTER THE MYSTIC YEAR ST. FRIEND AND AVANEL READ FROM A COPY OF THE GOLDEN BOOK AND HOW HE TELLS HIS VISION THAT CAME THE DAY THE BOOK FIRST APPEARED. ON OTHER DAYS THE LADY AVANEL SOWS THE THISTLE OF DREAMS AND THE APPLE AMARANTH SEEDS AND THE ACORNS OF EZEKIEL AND THE SEEDS OF THE GOLDEN RAIN TREE AND THEREBY COME NEW VISIONS AND TEACHINGS AND MAGIC WORKS. Of the Singapore adventure, there is a song to be sung, some day, but we cannot, by taking thought, sing of battles. The song of battle comes when we least expect it, long after or long before the event that is so moving to the heart. But Singapore is indeed overthrown and for two seasons the young men and maidens have been back from the Asiatic war front. To some of them, to many, The Golden Book came before they left Springfield. To others it appeared after the last battle, hovering above the trenches at midnight and there were songs in the air calling them home. Or they found it suddenly in their hands in camp shelters, and long litanies and proclamations of the New Springfield and the New Earth flashed upon their souls and burned eternal record there. It is a gorgeous first of March afternoon and the wind has abated for a few hours, and a few buds are out in Washington Park and we are hoping that frost will not nip them in this exceedingly premature spring. The lotus pond is still empty and leaden. It flowers only in the height of July but we look to it in hope and with remembrance of other lotus days. Avanel and I and St. Friend are in the Washington Park Pavilion. The precocious spring is in the blood of the ancient saint. He is the youngest of us, the gayest. Avanel is speaking of that morning in front of the blacksmith shop when the great Book fluttered into her arms. “In the fire flaming from the words of that book, I found power to go out and fight for the International Flag, and make that the vengeance for the death of my father.”