VALLEY

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 135camping out one summer. An old hunter taught me,"said Mr. Meredith. "Let me carry your books, MissWest."Rosemary was startled into another fib and said oh,they were not heavy. But the minister took them fromher with quite a masterful air and they walked awaytogether. It was the first time Rosemary had stoodby the valley spring without thinking of Martin Crawford.The mystic tryst had been broken.The littleby-path wound around the marsh and thenstruck up the long wooded hill on the top of whichRosemary lived.see the moonlight shiningBeyond, through the trees, they couldfields. But the littlepath was shadowyacross the level summerand narrow.Trees crowded over it,and trees are never quite asfriendly to human beings after nightfall as they arein daylight. They wrap themselves away from us.They whisper and plot furtively. If they reach outa hand to us it has a hostile, tentative touch. Peoplewalking amid trees after night always draw closertogether instinctively and involuntarily, making analliance, physical and mental, against certain alienpowers around them. Rosemary's dress brushedagainst John Meredith as they walked. Not even anabsent minded minister, who was after all a youngman still, though he firmly believed he had outlivedromance, could be insensible to the charm of the nightand the path and the companion.It is never quite safe to think we have done with