"
It did not vanish and presently we found ourselves in the grove.
It was very beautiful; the fire burned with a clear, steady glow
and a soft crackle; the long arcades beneath the trees were
illuminated with a rosy radiance, beyond which lurked companies of
gray and purple shadows. Everything was very still and dreamy and
remote.
"It is impossible that out there, just over the hill, lies a
village of men, where tame household lamps are shining," said
Uncle Blair.
"I feel as if we must be thousands of miles away from everything
we've ever known," murmured the Story Girl.
"So you are!" said Uncle Blair emphatically. "You're back in the
youth of the race--back in the beguilement of the young world.
Everything is in this hour--the beauty of classic myths, the
primal charm of the silent and the open, the lure of mystery.
Why, it's a time and place when and where everything might come
true--when the men in green might creep out to join hands and
dance around the fire, or dryads steal from their trees to warm
their white limbs, grown chilly in October frosts, by the blaze.
I wouldn't be much surprised if we should see something of the
kind. Isn't that the flash of an ivory shoulder through yonder
gloom? And didn't you see a queer little elfin face peering at us
around that twisted gray trunk? But one can't be sure.
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