"But it cannot be the same, Jerry-Jo. Thank you--but----"

"Give us another kiss?" The young fellow begged.

Priscilla drew back and held out the book.

"No." She was ready to relinquish the poems, but she would not buy them.

"Keep the book--it's yours."

Jerry-Jo scowled. And then he shouldered the box and ran up the path.
When he came back Priscilla was gone, and the spring day seemed
commonplace and dull to Jerry-Jo; the adventure was over. Priscilla had
filled her pails and had carried them and the book to the house.
Something had happened to her, also. She was out of tune with the
sunlight and warmth; she wanted to get close to life again and feel, as
she had earlier, the kinship and joy, but the mood had passed.

It was after the dishes of the midday meal were washed that she bethought
her of the old shrine back near the woods. It was many a day since she
had been there--not since the autumn before--and she felt old and
different, but still she had a sudden desire to return to it and try
again the mystic rite she had practised when she was a little girl. It
was like going back to play, to be sure; all the sacredness was gone, but
the interest remained, and her yearning spurred her to her only resource.

At two o'clock Nathaniel was off to a distant field, and Theodora
announced that she must walk to the village for a bit of "erranding." She
wanted Priscilla to join her, thinking it would please the girl, but
Priscilla shook her head and pleaded a weariness that was more mental