“I wonder what Jim meant by the remark he made when he left us, Eileen?”
“Don’t wonder about anything just now, boy,––excepting me. Don’t let us think about a thing that isn’t pleasant and in keeping with the glorious day. We can do our ‘trouble talks’ on the way back.”
She snuggled up close to her big companion who, as they reached the top of the hill, opened up and sent the car speeding along. At one of the sharp turns, he slowed up and stopped to admire the ever-changing delight of the scenery.
“Did you ever see anything so beautiful?” exclaimed Eileen, “and yet some folks want to go away from here when they have a holiday.”
They were on the thin line of roadway which was cut half-way on the face of the hillside. All the ranges were a spread of golden sunflowers; away below, sheer three hundred feet down, the blue waters of the Kalamalka Lake reflected the blue, cloudless sky, while here and there it seemed to throw back the sun’s rays in a golden spray.
On the other side of the water, as far as the eye could scan––until it rested again on the background of hills of gold, purple and green––the long, regular lines of old orchard-land shone a riot of pink and white. The air was laden with the perfume of bursting flowers.
Far up the Lake, alongside which the road ran in a brown, winding thread, were little wooded and grassy promontories sitting like islands upon the water and suggesting the last peaceful reservation of all the fairies, wood-elves and brownies who might be crowded out from the cities and the busy lands now over-run and exploited by the unpoetical humans.
A little, warm hand placed itself over Phil’s as he held the steering wheel and it roused him from his reverie. 348 He gazed at Eileen’s upturned face. He put his arms about her, drew her closer to him and kissed her on the lips.
She laughed––that same little, happy laugh away down in her throat, then she clapped her hands with pleasure.
“My, but I’m glad!” she cried. “My Phil is a dreamer after all.”