same moment; a bad man, with just enough natural kindness to make
him dangerous. I have not seen much of the world, but some things
we know by instinct; we feel them; and I often wonder if that is
not the way we know everything in the end. Sometimes when I take my
long walks, or go and sit beside the Falls of Montmorenci, looking
out to the great city on the Heights, to dear Isle Orleans,
where we have our pretty villa (we are to go there next week for
three months--happy summer months), up at the blue sky and into
the deep woods, I have strange feelings, which afterwards become
thoughts; and sometimes they fly away like butterflies, but oftener
they stay with me, and I give them a little garden to roam in--you
can guess where. Now and then I call them out of the garden and
make them speak, and then I set down what they say in my journal;
but I think they like their garden best. You remember the song we
used to sing at school?

"'Where do the stars grow, little Garaine?
The garden of moons, is it far away?
The orchard of suns, my little Garaine,
Will you take us there some day?'

"'If you shut your eyes,' quoth little Garaine,
'I will show you the way to go
To the orchard of suns, and the garden of moons,
And the field where the stars do grow.

"'But you must speak soft,' quoth little Garaine,
'And still must your footsteps be,
For a great bear prowls in the field of the stars,
And the moons they have men to see.