King Midas: A Romance | Page 2

except where the
half-rotted trees were trodden through. Down this the young man
turned, and a while later, as his ear was caught by the sound of falling
water, he quickened his steps a trifle, until he came to a little streamlet
which flowed through the forest, taking for its bed the fairest spot in
that wonderland of beauty. It fled from rock to rock covered with the
brightest of bright green moss and with tender fern that was but half
uncurled, and it flashed in the sunlit places and tinkled from the deep
black shadows, ever racing faster as if to see what more the forest had
to show. The young man's look had been anxious before, but he
brightened in spite of himself in the company of the streamlet.
Not far beyond was a place where a tiny rill flowed down from the high
rocks above, and where the path broadened out considerably. It was a
darkly shadowed spot, and the little rill was gathered in a sunken barrel,
which the genius of the place had made haste to cover with the green
uniform worn by all else that was to be seen. Beside the spring thus
formed the young man seated himself, and after glancing impatiently at
his watch, turned his gaze upon the beauty that was about him. Upon
the neighboring rocks the columbine and harebell held high revel, but
he did not notice them so much as a new sight that flashed upon his eye;
for the pool where the two streamlets joined was like a nest which the
marsh-marigold had taken for its home. The water was covered with its
bright green and yellow, and the young man gazed at the blossoms with
eager delight, until finally he knelt and plucked a few of them, which
he laid, cool and gleaming, upon the seat by the spring.
The flowers did not hold his attention very long, however; he rose up
and turned away towards where, a few steps beyond, the open country
could be seen between the tree trunks. Beyond the edge of the woods
was a field, through which the footpath and the streamlet both ran, the
former to join a road leading to a little town which lay in the distance.
The landscape was beautiful in its morning freshness, but it was not
that which the young man thought of; he had given but one glance
before he started back with a slight exclamation, his face turning paler.

He stepped into the concealment of the thick bushes at one side, where
he stood gazing out, motionless except for a slight trembling. Down the
road he had seen a white-clad figure just coming out of the village; it
was too far away to be recognized, but it was a young girl, walking
with a quick and springing step, and he seemed to know who it was.
She had not gone very far before she came to a thick hedge which lined
the roadside and hid her from the other's view; he could not see her
again until she came to the place where the streamlet was crossed by a
bridge, and where the little path turned off towards the forest. In the
meantime he stood waiting anxiously; for when she reached there he
would see her plainly for the first time, and also know if she were
coming to the spring. She must have stopped to look at something, for
the other had almost started from his hiding place in his eagerness
when finally she swept past the bushes. She turned down the path
straight towards him, and he clasped his hands together in delight as he
gazed at her.
And truly she was a very vision of the springtime, as she passed down
the meadows that were gleaming with their first sprinkling of
buttercups. She was clad in a dress of snowy white, which the wind
swept before her as she walked; and it had stolen one strand of her
golden hair to toss about and play with. She came with all the eagerness
and spring of the brooklet that danced beside her, her cheeks glowing
with health and filled with the laughter of the morning. Surely, of all
the flowers of the May-time there is none so fair as the maiden. And the
young man thought as he stood watching her that in all the world there
was no maiden so fair as this.
She did not see him, for her eyes were lifted to a little bobolink that had
come flying down the wind. One does not hear the bobolink at his best
unless one goes to hear him; for sheer glorified happiness there is in all
our land no bird like him at the hour of sunrise, when he is