"Many questions vex us: all others lead to one: when man vanishes, does he pass into the stillness of the earth's atmosphere and sink toward the stillness of its rocks like every other species? He answers with his faith: that his spirit is here he knows not why, but takes flight from it he knows not how or whither. Only, faith discloses to him one picture: the snowy pinion folded and at rest in the Final Places."
That long sunny afternoon in the June woods! The shadows of the trees slowly lengthened eastward. The sun sank below the forest boughs and shot its long lances against the tree trunks. It made a straight path of gold, deeper gold, across the yellow grain. The sounds of life died away, the atmosphere grew sweeter with the odours of leaves and grasses and blossoms.
Webster recrossed the woods as he had entered it, waded through the nightshade and climbed the fence under the dark tree.
It was twilight when he entered the City.
As he passed her yard, Jenny bounded across to him joyous, innocent, tender, in a white frock with fresh blue ribbons in her brown hair.
"Did you find him?" she asked, her happiness not depending on his answer.
"It was not the right place. Tomorrow I am going out further into the country to a better place."
"The humming-bird has been here," Jenny announced with an air of saying that she had been more successful as a naturalist.