And though men thought her sad and lonely, there was joy to her in the hum of the bees and the song of the birds and the rustling of the leaves. The butterflies and the flowers and the brooks were her friends. “What a strange child,” people said when they heard her talking to these friends. They did not know of the stories her friends told her, stories which reminded her of a wonderful garden of delight where men did not ever stare and stare in gaping wonder because a little child talked with the fairies that live in all things beautiful, clothed in robes of sunlight and rainbow hues. They would have taken her away from these friends but for one old man, her grandfather, who said: “The child will be better for the fresh air. Let her live while she may.” So it was that she played and talked with the flowers and sang to the brooks and listened to the stories of the forest trees that whispered among themselves. None dared take her away. One day she had been for a long ramble by a mighty river, and the sun had sunk to the westward on its journey; but she turned not to the place she called her home. Tired and worn out with her play, she lay on a rock and slept. In her sleep it seemed that a touch upon her forehead awakened in her a vision of things she once had known, but had now almost forgotten. There was the king’s garden and the palace, and the other wonderful buildings, tall and stately—mighty buildings which seemed to speak of mighty builders, noble thoughts and great men’s deeds. Some were even more stately, some more humble, than the palace. But in all there was a sense of grander, nobler life than the life those knew who were with her now, and who, laughing, called her a dreamer. And she heard a voice repeating, “I will return! I will! I will!” Again she smiled as she recognized the voice. A feeling of intense happiness and content came to her and she—awoke. More than ever it seemed as if that other were the real life, and this a heavy dream. [Illustration] V The twilight glow still lingered in the west and the evening breeze called her to thoughts of home. But she had learned wisdom, and when they asked her where she had been, Eline said she had fallen asleep in the sunshine on a rock by the great river. Which was true. Of her dream she said nothing to any except to the old man who alone seemed to understand her a little. He did not laugh, but looked with thoughtful eyes intent, into the distance, away to the starlit sky, and it seemed to her that he also was trying to remember a forgotten dream of life. And seeing this she put her hand in his trustingly, and they two knew well each other’s thoughts though never a word was spoken. It seemed to the old man that the child was leading him along a familiar road to a home forgotten—after many weary days of wandering.