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 it was very beautiful and very musical;—it was almost like a chant."

As they walked on, they had turned into a very narrow trail that led up a little hill which was crowned by some tall, swaying trees, under which was a group of great, mossy boulders. At the top of the hill, Marjorie stopped and sat down on one of the boulders and looked away across the valley, toward the steep, green mountains. "It is a very lovely valley," she said. "It must be wonderful all the year around. Every season must be wonderful, and every season must bring such fascinating work, and such fascinating returns. It seems such a happy place; but I suppose—, yes, sorrow does creep in, doesn't it?" and she looked toward a woman who was toiling up the little trail, seeing nothing at either right or left; but her lips were set tight and her eyes looked as if a hand were twisting at her heart. Marjorie's face filled with compassion. "Oh," she said, "what can I do? She has a hurt that she cannot share with a stranger; but I do so want to help her."

The woman did not see her until just as the trail passed close in front of the boulder; and then she started back, as if she had suddenly been awakened from a dream, and stepped a little farther away as she passed.

Marjorie got up quickly and followed her, and reached her at a little bend in the trail. She