.

CARNAC'S TALK WITH HIS MOTHER.
Carnac went slowly towards his father's house on the hill.

Fixed, as his mind was, upon all that had just happened, his eye took fondly from the gathering dusk pictures which the artist's mind cherishes--the long roadway, with the maples and pines, the stump fences; behind which lay the garnered fields, where the plough had made ready the way for the Fall wheat; the robins twittering in the scattered trees; the cooing of the wood-pigeon; over all, the sky in its perfect purpling blue, and far down the horizon the evening-star slowly climbing.

He noted the lizards slipping through the stones; he saw where the wheel of a wagon had crushed some wild flower-growth; he heard the far call of a milkmaid to the cattle; he caught the sweet breath of decaying verdure, and through all, the fresh, biting air of the new-land autumn, pleasantly stinging his face.
Something kept saying to his mind: "It's all good.

It's life and light, and all good." But his nerves were being tried; his whole nature was stirred.
He took the letter from his pocket again, and read it in the fading light.