road among the lilacs, saw it filled with the eruptive vision of
Mountain Lad, majestic and mighty, the gnat-creature of a man upon his
back absurdly small; his eyes wild and desirous, with the blue sheen
that surfaces the eyes of stallions; his mouth, flecked with the froth
and fret of high spirit, now brushed to burnished knees of impatience,
now tossed skyward to utterance of that vast, compelling call that
shook the air.

Almost as an echo, from afar off, came a thin-sweet answering whinney.

"It is the Fotherington Princess," Paula breathed softly.

Again Mountain Lad trumpeted his call, and Dick chanted:

"Hear me! I am Eros! I stamp upon the hills!"

And almost, for a flash of an instant, circled soft and close in his
arms, Paula knew resentment of her husband's admiration for the
splendid beast. And the next instant resentment vanished, and, in
acknowledgment of due debt, she cried gaily:

"And now, Red Cloud! the Song of the Acorn!" Dick glanced half
absently to her from the pamphlet folded on his finger, and then, with
equal pitch of gaiety, sang:

"The acorns come down from heaven!
I plant the short acorns in the valley!
I plant the long acorns in the valley!
I sprout, I, the black-oak acorn, sprout, I sprout!"