honeysuckle blossoms, clinging to the vine on the trellis, until they
poured out a perfect symphony of perfume to mingle in a hallelujah from
the lilacs and roses that ascended to the very stars themselves.

I had dropped my head on my arms, and let my eyes go roaming out to the
dim hills that banked against the radiant sky, when somebody seated
himself beside me, and a whiff of tobacco blew across my face, sweet
with having joined in the honeysuckle chorus. Nobody said a word for a
long time, and then I looked up and laughed into the deep, gray eyes
looking tenderly down into mine. With a thrill I realized that there
was one man in the world I could offer the chalice to and _trust_ him to
drink--moderately.

"Jamie," I said in a voice as young as it used to be when I trailed at
his heels, "thank you for letting me be contrary and independent and
puzzling. I have been busy adventuring with life, in queer places and
with people not like--like us. Now I want a little of real living and to
think--and feel. May I?"

"You may, dear," the Crag answered in a big comfortable voice, that was
a benediction in itself. "I understood last night when you told me that
you wanted to come home alone. I can trust Jasper with you, and I am
going to sleep down at the lodge room, right across the road here, so I
can hear you if you even think out loud. No one shall worry you about it
any more. Now will you promise to be happy?"

I could not answer him, I was so full of a deepness of peace. I just
laid my cheek against the sleeve of his queer old gray coat, to show
him what I could not say.