For more than two hours Darrell, taking little part himself in the

general conversation, had watched, as one entranced, the play of the

fine features and listened to the deep, musical voice of this stranger

who was a stranger no longer.

He was an excellent conversationalist; humorous without being cynical,

scholarly without being pedantic, and showing especial familiarity with

history and the natural sciences.

At last, while walking up and down the broad veranda, Mr. Britton had

paused beside Darrell, and throwing an arm over his shoulder had said,-"Come, my son, let us have a little stroll."

Darrell's heart had leaped strangely at the words, he knew not why, and

in a silence pregnant with deep emotion on both sides, they had climbed

to the rustic bench. Here they sat down. The ground at their feet was

carpeted with pine-needles; the air was sweet with the fragrance of the

pines and of the warm earth; no sound reached their ears aside from the

chirping of the crickets, the occasional dropping of a pine-cone, or the

gentle sighing of the light breeze through the branches above their

heads.

A glorious scene lay outspread before them; the distant ranges half

veiled in purple haze, the valleys flooded with golden light, brightened

by the autumnal tints of the deciduous timber which marked the courses

of numerous small streams, and over the whole a restful silence, as

though, the year's work ended, earth was keeping some grand, solemn

holiday.

Mr. Britton first broke the silence, as in low tones he murmured,

reverently,-"'Thou crownest the year with Thy goodness!'"

Then turning to Darrell with a smile of peculiar sweetness, he said,

"This is one of what I call the year's 'coronation days,' when even

Nature herself rests from her labors and dons her royal robes in honor

of the occasion."

Then, as an answering light dawned in Darrell's eyes and the tense lines

in his face began to relax, Mr. Britton continued, musingly: "I have often wondered why we do not imitate Nature in her great annual

holiday, and why we, a nation who garners one of the richest harvests of

the world, do not have a national harvest festival. How effectively and

fittingly, for instance, something similar to the old Jewish feast of

tabernacles might be celebrated in this part of the country! In the

earliest days of their history the Jews were commanded, when the year's

harvest had been gathered, to take the boughs of goodly trees, of

palm-trees and willows, and to construct booths in which they were to

dwell, feasting and rejoicing, for seven days. In the only account given

of one of these feasts, we read that the people brought olive-branches

and pine-branches, myrtle-branches and palm-branches, and made

themselves booths upon the roofs of their houses, in their courts, and

in their streets, and dwelt in them, 'and there was very great

gladness.' Imagine such a scene on these mountain-slopes and foot-hills,

under these cloudless skies; the sombre, evergreen boughs interwoven

with the brightly colored foliage from the lowlands; this mellow, golden

sunlight by day alternating with the white, mystical radiance of the

harvest moon by night."




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