CHAPTER VI.
HARTLEY'S GLEN.
How many girls, among all the girls who may read this little book, have seen with their own eyes Hartley's Glen?
Not one, perhaps, save Brynhild and the Rosicrucian, for whom the book is written.

But the others must try to see it with my eyes, for it is a fair place and a sweet as any on earth.

Behind the house, and just under the brow of the little hill that shelters it, a narrow path dips down to the right, and goes along for a bit, with a dimpled clover-meadow on the one hand, and a stone wall, all warm with golden and red-brown lichens, on the other.

Follow this, and you come to a little gateway, beyond which is a thick plantation of larches, with one grim old red cedar keeping watch over them.

If he regards you favorably, you may pass on, down the narrow path that winds among the larches, whose feathery finger-tips brush your cheek and try to hold you back, as if they willed not that you should go farther, to see the wonders which they can never behold.
But you leave them behind, and come out into the sunshine, in a little green glade which might be the ballroom of the fairy queen.