VALLEY

130 RAINBOW VALLEYThe spring was a hidden thing. You might havepassed within ten feet of it and never have suspectedits existence. Two generations past a huge old pinehad fallen almost across it.Nothing was left of thetree but itscrumblinggrew thickly,trunk out of which the fernsmaking a green roof and a lacy screenfor the water. A maple tree grewbeside it with acuriously gnarled and twisted trunk, creeping alongthe ground for a little way before shooting up intothe air,and so forming a quaint seat; and Septemberhad flung a scarf of pale smoke-blue asters around thehollow.John Meredith, taking the cross-lots road throughRainbow Valley on his way home from some pastoralvisitations around the Harbour head one evening,turned aside to drink of the little spring. WalterBlythe had shown it to him one afternoon only a fewdays before, and they had had a long talk together onthe maple seat. John Meredith, under all his shynessand aloofness, had the heart of a boy. He had beencalled Jack in his youth, though nobody in Glen St.Mary would ever have believed it. Walter and hehad taken to each other and had talked unreservedly.Mr. Meredith found his way into some sealed andsacred chambers of the lad's soul wherein not even Dihad ever looked.They were to be chums from thathour and Walter knew that he would neverfriendlybe frightened of the minister again."I never believed before that it was possible to get