But was it ventriloquism at large? Had the hermit power to throw his melody right into the center of the ring of girls–so to answer himself?
It was the visitors’ turn now for a stupendous sensation.
Almost as airy and flute-like, though not as liquidly sweet and soaring, were bird-notes which answered back from within the very halo of Pemrose herself; and she turned, with her heart in her throat, to see who–who had the thrush in her pocket.
CHAPTER XI
Mother Earth’s Romance
Surely, it was the sweetest grace ever said.
A duet between a hermit thrush and a Camp Fire Girl! Pinnacle vespers!
If gladness did not flow freely now, then human hearts were a desert!
Instead, they were enchanted ground, those girlish hearts, carried away by a sense that Mother Earth did not, after all, have to go outside her own atmosphere for her fairy-land,–her golden crown of romance.
| “Wheel-y-will-y-will-y-il!” |