"But were they not sweet, little Wonder?"

"No, Daddy, they tasted of dust."

And as Antony had lifted her up, he had said in his heart: "Silencieux,
I bring you my little child."




CHAPTER XII


AUTUMN IN THE VALLEY

Autumn in the valley was autumn, melancholy and sinister, as you find
her only in such low-lying immemorial drifting places of leaves, and
oozy sinks of dank water. For the moors autumn is the spring come back
in purple, and in golden woods and many another place where the year
dies happily, she smiles like a widow so young and fair that one thinks
rather of life than death in her presence.

But in the valley Autumn was a fearsome hag, a little crazy, two-double,
gathering sticks in a scarlet cloak. When she turned her wicked old eyes
upon you, the life died within you, and wherever you walked she was
always somewhere in the bushes muttering evil spells. All the year
round under the green cloud of summer, you might meet Autumn creeping
somewhere in the valley, like foul mists that creep from pool to pool;
for here all the year was decay to feed upon and dead leaves for her to