half-scared look, as if she were not sure what might seize upon her at any moment out of the unknown.

Odd little bits of information stirred unfathomable passion in her. When she knew that in the tiny brown buds of autumn were folded, minute and complete, the finished flowers of the summer nine months hence, tiny, folded up, and left there waiting, a flash of triumph and love went over her.

“I could never die while there was a tree,” she said passionately, sententiously, standing before a great ash in worship.

It was the people who, somehow, walked as an upright menace to her.

Her life at this time was unformed, palpitating, essentially shrinking from all touch. She gave something to other people, but she