She had almost always come alone, but sometimes Roger stealing down would watch her sitting motionless and staring in among the trees.

Years later in his reading he had come upon the phrase, "sacred grove," and at once he had thought of the birches.

And sitting here where she had been, he felt again that boundless faith in life resplendent, conquering death, and serenely sweeping him on--into what he did not fear.
For this had been his mother's faith.

Sometimes in the deepening dusk he could almost see her sitting here.
"This faith in you has come from me.

This is my memory living on in you, my son, though you do not know.