remembered the water sporting with itself and babbling in its channel far below, and how here it lingered by a stone, here frolicked with a bush, and here streamed off from a whole colony of forget-me-nots—and then she needed not to be invited a second time, and after this Frank heard at once the words, “Well, then, let us go to the ravine.”
And this ravine was like another church to these children. As we know, they had their own little chapels first in the fields, by the hedgerows, not far from the nest of the quail. Here in this ravine they had a new church, substantially different from yon other, and yet in many respects not at all dissimilar. The difference was perhaps this—that yonder by the hedgerows and in the fields the mind expanded and soared aloft, but here gathered itself into its own depths. The similarity then lay in this that both there and here the soul gained strength and courage and other qualities of the like nature.
So now the life of these two young souls began to bestir itself. It began in the grave, it leapt forth among the fields, and here in the woodland it paused and listened. There where life ends their life began, there where life unfolds in germinating ears of corn beneath warm summer rays of light, their life carolled gaily, and here in the ravine and woodland where life has a couch of quiet dreams, their pilgrimage was reminded that it must return again to the graves.
