Suddenly all the valley glowed as with a silver flame. And out of the heart of it rose a column of light, rainbow hued but pale as moonlight, indistinct as a moonlight mist.
Slowly it advanced through the silver flame, with a slightly swaying motion, rhythmical as the steps of an armed host. And then the children, watching spellbound, but not at all afraid, for it all seemed to be perfectly a matter of course, just as much so as it had become quite the thing to hear Peter Pan sit up and talk, began to distinguish shadowy forms, to hear strange music, and the dull throbbing of tom-toms.
Nearer swept the unknown company, headed by one of kindly bearing, clothed in blanket and fringed leggings, with moccasins embroidered with wampum and quills of porcupine, with eagle feathers in his hair and tomahawk at his belt, and after him followed his countless braves, stepping noiselessly, moving silently in the wake of the leader. So they passed and vanished and Bob knew that he had looked upon the great chief who for countless years had slept in the windy hilltop in the shadow of the lonely oak.
So, set in a frame of silver sheen, the vision faded into the moonlit mystery of the night.
Thus does the great Spirit of Love and Good open the eyes of innocence and purity to the infinite wonders of Nature, the visions of the night watches, the language of the dear dumb creatures, the voices that breathe from the souls of flowers. And the children awe-stricken but wholly unafraid, hand in hand, sought the homeward way.
At the threshold of Sally’s room they kissed and separated, Tim hopping along in Bob’s wake, and perching familiarly on the foot-board of his bed. And Bob’s last waking recollection was of the bird, standing sleepily on one claw, his eyes shut and his beak sunk in his feathers, while he croaked in a drowsy little note, “What a place for worms.”
