and knew not the subtle difference between inspiration and insanity,
heard with wonder that he was going out into the woods. But he set
out alone, through the snowy forest and along the lake-shore, to
find some place far away, where he could build a hut, or even put up
a tent; and when he was miles from the village, he came suddenly on
a little wonderland that made his heart leap like the wild deer in
the brake. Here was a dreamland palace, a vision beyond all
thinking--a little shanty built of logs! It stood in a pretty dell,
with a mountain streamlet dashing through it, and the mighty forest
hiding it, and the lake spread out in front of it. It was all wet
snow, and freezing rain, and mud and desolation; but Thyrsis saw the
summer that was to be, and he sat down upon a stone and gazed at it,
and laughed and sang for wonder and joy.

Then he fled back to the village, and found the owner of the earthly
rights to this paradise, and hired it for a little gold; and then he
moved out, in spite of the snow. At last his soul was free!

Twice a week they brought him provisions, and there he stayed. At
first he nearly froze at night, and he had to write with his gloves
on; but he did not feel the cold, because of the fire within. He
climbed the mountains and yelled with the mad wind, and tramped
through the bare, rocking forest, singing his minstrel songs. And
all these days he walked with God, and there was no world at all
save the world of nature. Millions of young-hearted things sprang up
out of the ground to welcome him; the forests shook out their
dazzling sheen, and the wild birds went mad in the mornings. All the
time Thyrsis was writing, writing--thrilling with his ecstasy, and
pouring out all his soul. He kept a little diary these days, and for
weeks there was but one entry--"The book! The book!"