view around a turn in the path. The officer did not hesitate; nor was
he smiling, now, as he stepped in front of the man. A few crisp words
he spoke, in a low tone, and pointed with his stick. There was no
reply. The fellow turned and slunk away while the guardian of the law,
with angry eyes, watched him out of sight, then turned to look toward
the woman. She had not noticed. The officer smiled and quietly
strolled on down the path.

The woman had noticed neither the man nor her protector because she
was far, far, away in her Yesterdays. She did not heed the incident
because she was a little girl again, playing beside the brook that
came across the road and made its winding way through the field just
below the house. It was only a little brook, but beautifully clear and
fresh, for it had come only a short distance from its birth place in a
glen under the hill that she could see from her window. In some
places, the long meadow grass, growing close down to the edge, almost
touched above, making a cool, green, cradle arch through which the
pure waters flowed with soft whispers as though the baby stream were
crooning to itself a lullaby. In other stretches, the green willows
bent far over to dip their long, slim, fingers in the slow current
that crept so lazily through the flickering light and shade that it
seemed scarce to move at all. And other places there were, where the
streamlet chuckled and laughed over tiny pebbly bars in the sunlight
or gurgled past where flags and rushes grew.

Again, with her dolls, the little girl played on the grassy bank;
washing their tiny garments in the clear water and hanging them on the
flags or willows to dry; resting often to listen to the fairy song the
water sang; or to whisper to the brook the secrets of her childhood
dreams. The drowsy air was full of the sweet, grassy, smell mingled