And what else?  He was almost in fear of the very question that was never out of his mind.  She might wish him luck in the wars, but he knew her too well to have any illusions that this meant the giving of the great thing she had to give, unless in the full spontaneity of spirit.  This afternoon, with the flood of returning strength, the question suddenly became commanding in a fresh-born suspense.

As he walked back to the house he met Belvy Smith and some of the children.  Of course they asked for a story, and he continued one about a battered knight and his Heart’s Desire, which he had begun some days previously.

“He wasn’t a particularly handsome knight or particularly good—­inclined to mischief, I think, when he forgot himself—­but he was mightily in earnest.  He didn’t know how to take no.  Say ‘No!’ to him and push him off the mountain top and there he was, starting for the peak again!  And he was not so foolish as he might seem.  When he reached the top he was happy just to get a smile from his Heart’s Desire before he was tossed back again.  His fingers were worn clear down to the first joint and his feet off up to the knees, so he could not hold on to the seams of canyons as well as before.  He would have been a ridiculous spectacle if he weren’t so pitiful.  And that wasn’t the worst of it.  He was pretty well shot to pieces by the brigands whom he had met on his travels.  With every ascent there was less of him to climb, you see.  In fact, he was being worn down so fast that pretty soon there wouldn’t be much left of him except his wishbone.  That was indestructible.  He would always wish.  And after the hardest climb of all, here he is very near the top again, and—­”

“And—­and—­”

“I’ll have to finish this story later,” said Jack, sending the youngsters on their way, while he went his own to call to Firio, as he entered the yard:  “Son of the sun, I feel so strong that I am going for a ride!”

“You wear the big spurs and the grand chaps?” Firio asked.

Jack hesitated thoughtfully.

“No, just plain togs,” he answered.  “I think we will hang up that circus costume as a souvenir.  We are past that stage of our career.  My devil is dead.”

It was Firio’s turn to be thoughtful.

“Si!  We had enough fight!  We get old and sober! Si, I know!  We settle down.  I am going to begin to shave!” he concluded, stroking the black down on his boyish lip.

With the town behind him and the sinking sun over his shoulder, the battered knight rode toward the foothills and on up the winding path, oblivious of the Eternal Painter’s magic and conscious only that every step brought him nearer his Heart’s Desire.  Here was the rock where she was seated when he had first seen her.  What ages had passed since then!  And there, around the escarpment, he saw her pony on the shelf!  Dropping P.D.’s reins, he hurried on impetuously.  With the final turn he found Mary seated on the rock where she had been the day that he had come to say farewell before he went to battle with the millions.  Now as then, she was gazing far out over that sea of singing, quivering light, and the crunch of his footsteps awakened her from her revery.