Never in his life had the nature-loving man seen a more gorgeous picture. It seemed that the very world was laid out for him to gaze upon from that gaunt pinnacle. He stepped to the iron rail, cold and dewy, grasped it in his strong, lean hands, and stood there, bareheaded, reverent. “Do you feel tolerant of all mankind now, Doctor?” came a low voice at his elbow. Shonto wheeled about, startled, as if awakened from a dream. Charmian Reemy stood beside him, dressed in a man’s flannel shirt, a divided whipcord skirt, and high-laced boots. She had combed her dark brown hair, but had not stopped to do it up. It fell in a cataract, gleaming bronze-gold with the rays of the early-morning sun behind her, almost to her knees. She was smiling that smile which lifted one corner of her mouth in a whimsical little twist. “I am tolerant of all mankind,” said the doctor seriously. “But now that you have come, I don’t know whether to look at you or--that.” And he pointed over the mysterious forest to the sea, which seemed to stand upright before him as if painted on a huge canvas. “Do you think I’m pretty?” “I know it--you’re almost beautiful.” “But that,” she said, pointing over the forest, “is not only beautiful but mighty--stupendous. You’d better look at that, Doctor.” “The redwood forests are mighty,” he told her, “but they are no more beautiful than the redwood lily that hides in the perpetual shade they cast. One cannot say that the giant redwood tree is more wonderful than the slender lily at its feet. Both are the product of nature’s mysterious laboratory. And you are, too.” “Speaking of tolerance,” she went on, without comment upon his comparison, “don’t you think that we could all be more tolerant of others if we only would look at every one we meet as a distinct product of nature? I mean this: We say, ‘Here is a redwood tree. Isn’t it magnificent?’ Or, ‘Here is a redwood lily. Doesn’t it smell sweet?’ Or, ‘Here is a buckthorn bush. Aren’t its spines prickly?’ We never think of comparing them. We would not say, ‘This redwood lily is puny compared with a redwood tree.’ Or, ‘This buckthorn bush is so prickly. I don’t think nearly so much of it as I do of the whitethorn bush, which has beautiful flowers and is soft to the touch.’ Wouldn’t that sound ridiculous! We accept all things in nature as they are, except man. For man we have set a standard, and he must live up to it or be forever displeasing to us. I wonder if you know what I’m talking about.” “I think I understand you perfectly,” replied Shonto. “And I believe that you are entirely right. In fact, my life’s work is based on what you have just expressed.” “The glands?” she asked eagerly. “Yes.” “Won’t you please explain? We have lots of time. None of the others are up yet.”