"He loved the valley, the mountain, the grass, the rose. Now, since he cherished the rose so well, see, the rose will not leave him. Out of the dust it rises, it grows, it blooms. Against his lips it presses. It is the beginning! He loved, he thought, he knew. He is not dead He is with Nature. It is but the beginning! "Let the rose press against his lips in an eternal, pure caress. There is no end. They understand. We do not yet understand." The pink flame of the unreal light died away. The pageant of the hills, the panorama of the battle, faded and were gone. The table and the books came back. Wondering at these words, I scarce could tell when the Singing Mouse went away, leaving me staring at the barren walls and at the white skull by my hand. ... For a moment it nearly seemed to me the hollow eyes had light and spoke to me. For a moment almost it seemed to me that the rose stirred deep down among its petals, and that a wider perfume floated out upon the air. [Illustration] [Illustration: The Man of the Mountain] [Illustration] THE MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN "Once there was a man," said the Singing Mouse, "who loved to go into the mountains. He would go alone, far into the mountains, and climb up to the tops of the tallest peaks. Nothing pleased him so much as to climb to the top of some mountain where no other man had ever been. No one ever knew what he said to the mountains, or what the mountains said to him, but that they understood each other very well was sure, for he could go among the mountains where other men dared not go. At the tops of the high mountains he would sit and look out over the country that lay beyond. He would not say what he saw, for he said he could not tell, and that, moreover, the people would not understand it, for they did not know the way the mountains thought. "One time this man climbed to the top of a very high mountain peak in a distant country. This peak looked out over a wide land, and the man knew that from its summit he could see many things. "The man was now growing old, so when he got to the top of this mountain he sat down to rest. When he sat down, he put his chin in his hand, and his arm upon his knee; and so he looked out over the land, seeing many things. "The sun came up, but the man did not move, but sat and thought. The moon came, but still he did not move. He only looked, and thought and smiled. "After many days it was seen that this man would not come down from the mountain. The mountain made him part of itself, and turned him into stone, as he sat there, with his chin in his hand. He is there to-day, looking out over many things. He never moves, for he is now of stone. I have seen that place myself. Once I thought I heard this man whisper of the things he saw. He sits there to-day." [Illustration] [Illustration: At the Place of the Oaks ...] [Illustration] AT THE PLACE OF THE OAKS