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“I rode with father all last summer.” The “pep” leaked out of Pemrose’s whisper into her red cheeks now—the sunburst of luck was too suffusing.

“Oh! there will be eight or nine horses, I expect, out in the Long Pasture, on the sidehill. You girls can take turns in riding. Revel, gentle little mother-horse—a baby could ride her—I meant to have her brought down here this summer, for Una.”

“And—and I can ride her, up there, father!” Una flung her arms around him—a clinging vine. Suddenly, however, she raised her head, as if afraid that she might be riding Revel in a false habit. “But I did hear-r it, father,” she persisted, “that silvery murmur—hum. And, oh! that wasn’t all—only you’re so unbelieving. While I was listening, wondering—wondering whether I could be strung on wires,” half laughingly, half fearfully, “picking up sounds by radio, something fell at my feet. A little bunch of wild flowers! I touched them. Something stung me.”

Again she held up her slim fingers and looked at them curiously.