work; but he would find himself thinking of Corydon, and new
problems would arise, and he would take to writing her notes--and
finally realize in despair that he might as well go and see her.

Meantime Corydon would be wrestling with tasks of her own. They had
talked over her development, and agreed that what she needed was
discipline. And because Thyrsis had read her some of Goethe's
lyrics, she had decided to begin with German. Thyrsis had wasted a
great deal of time with German courses in college, and so he was
able to tell her everything not to do. He got her a little primer of
grammar, just enough to make clear the language-structure; and then
he set her to acquiring a vocabulary. He had little books full of
words that he had prepared for himself, and these she drilled into
her brain, all day and nearly all night. She stopped for nothing but
to eat--in the woods when the weather was fair and in her room when
it rained, she studied words, words, words! And she made amazing
progress--while Thyrsis was wrestling with his angels she read
Grimm's fairy tales, and some of Heyse's "Novellen," and "Hermann
and Dorothea," and "Wilhelm Tell."

But these were children's tasks, and her pilgrimage was one of
despair. Above were the heights where Thyrsis dwelt, inaccessible,
almost invisible; and how many years must she toil to reach them!
She would come to him with tears in her eyes--tears of shame for her
ignorance and her stupidity. And then Thyrsis would kiss the tears
away, and tell her how many brilliant and clever women he had met,
who had the souls of dolls behind all their display of culture.

So Corydon would escape that unhappiness--but alas, only to fall
into another kind. For she was a maiden, beautiful and tender, and