sunset streets only the little groups of grown-ups lingered to talk
over the day and exchange last jokes before going on toward home and
rest.




CHAPTER X

THE KNOLL

There were whole days when Cynthia's son did nothing but loaf,--whole
days when he went off by himself into the still corners of his world
and let the whole wide universe talk and sing to him and awe him with
its mystery.

He would lie for hours in some cool, shady fern nook under a sheltering
road hedge or in the shade of some giant tree friend. At such times he
scaled the thinking, wondering part of himself and opened wide his
heart to the great whisper that rippled the grain, to the sweet song
that swelled the throat of the oriole and lark, to the beauty that dyed
the heavens and the earth, to the glad struggle for life everywhere.

In this way he had always healed all his griefs, freed his soul from
doubts and stilled the many strange longings that made his heart ache
for things whose name and nature he knew not.

He had discovered many of these still, restful corners from which to
watch life as it went by. But his favorite spot was right on his own
farm.