DEBORAH'S BOOK.
my feet again upon the open down; but this winding hollow was a long one—I had followed it probably for half a mile—and when I came up again there was a green hill between me and the sea, and I did not exactly know where I was; so I turned in the other direction, and I well remember the sudden surprise, amazement I may say, with which I saw one of the commonest sights possible—namely, a narrow path, in which I was standing, and which, with many windings and meanderings, led away over the open grass, and lost itself in the distance among confused outlines of the swelling hills. Could this be the narrow way?
I cannot say that I was satisfied by any means to think that it was, but my mind was filled with childish awe, and I went a little way along it till, casting my eyes not more than half-a-mile before me, I saw,—O, wonderful! almost terrible sight! it was so convincing, and brought the dreamy wonder so near,—I saw, toiling on before me, a man with a burden on his back; a man that now I should call a pedler; but then it was, and could only be, a pilgrim. So then, this was the narrow path; and in the plentitude of my infantine simplicity I wondered whether the people down town knew of it; and I went on, still carefully carrying my pretty blue flutterers, for perhaps a mile, when, to my utter confusion, the path branched into three—three distinct paths—and, what was more, the pilgrim whom I was following had descended into a hollow, and had disappeared.
Which of these three paths, then, should I follow? One of them seemed to lead back again towards the town; a second, I thought, was rather too wide and
