the Story Girl, and we walked up the hill together. She had
recovered her calmness of mind, but she made no reference to
Peter. When we reached our lane and passed under Grandfather
King's big willow the fragrance of the orchard struck us in the
face like a wave. We could see the long rows of trees, a white
gladness in the moonshine. It seemed to us that there was in the
orchard something different from other orchards that we had
known. We were too young to analyze the vague sensation. In
later years we were to understand that it was because the orchard
blossomed not only apple blossoms but all the love, faith, joy,
pure happiness and pure sorrow of those who had made it and
walked there.

"The orchard doesn't seem the same place by moonlight at all,"
said the Story Girl dreamily. "It's lovely, but it's different.
When I was very small I used to believe the fairies danced in it
on moonlight nights. I would like to believe it now but I
can't."

"Why not?"

"Oh, it's so hard to believe things you know are not true. It
was Uncle Edward who told me there were no such things as
fairies. I was just seven. He is a minister, so of course I
knew he spoke the truth. It was his duty to tell me, and I do
not blame him, but I have never felt quite the same to Uncle
Edward since."

Ah, do we ever "feel quite the same" towards people who destroy
our illusions? Shall I ever be able to forgive the brutal