"'Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
"'And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
"'And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
"'Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself; is not puffed up,
"'Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
"'Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
"'Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.'"
As the last words died away in the far woodland, Trove and Darrel turned, wiping their eyes in silence. That flood of inspiration had filled them. Big thoughts had come drifting down with its current. They listened a while, but heard only the faint crackle of the fire.
"Strange!" said Trove, presently.
"Passing strange, and like a beautiful song," said Darrel.