Unmarked save by Nature’s hand;
The blue waters ripple, the sweet valley smiles,
The valley that bears his name,
And serenely he rests, tho’ his unknown grave
Is unmarked by the laurels of fame.
Mrs. North was greatly pleased and surprised by the impromptu lines and both children declared their intention of learning them by heart, after which there were kisses all round and the little folks trotted serenely off to slumberland.
The house stood upon a high cliff overlooking the valley, its banks sloping sharply down to the water’s edge. And the children never knew how they came, hours after, to be scrambling down the steep path, hand in hand, with Peter Pan hurrying on in front and Tim, the crow, flapping and hopping alongside.
Silently they hastened on, impelled by an unspoken fear of being late, for what they knew not.
Presently they reached the foot of the hill and paused in the shadow of the great trees that lined the fruitful banks of the river.
It was a gorgeous night. The full moon, pouring her silver light through a fretwork of leaf and twig overhead, wove patterns of fancy laces on the grass below. Not a leaf quivered. Not a breath stirred the sleeping vale of Cuyahoga.