There had never been a blither setting off from the Giant’s Cairn.  All the remaining guests were gathered to see them go.  There was not a mote in the blue air between Outledge and the crest of Washington.  All the subtile strength of the hills—­ores and sweet waters and resinous perfumes and breath of healing leaf and root distilled to absolute purity in the clear ether that sweeps only from such bare, thunder-scoured summits—­made up the exhilarant draught in which they drank the mountain joy and received afar off its baptism of delight.

It was beautiful to see the Josselyns so girlish and gay; it was lovely to look at old Miss Craydocke, with her little tremors of pleasure, and the sudden glistenings in her eyes; Sin Saxon’s pretty face was clear and noble, with its pure impulse of kindliness, and her fun was like a sparkle upon deep waters.  Dakie Thayne rushed about in a sort of general satisfaction which would not let him be quiet anywhere.  Outsiders looked with a kind of new, half-jealous respect on these privileged few who had so suddenly become the “General’s party.”  Sin Saxon whispered to Leslie Goldthwaite:  “It’s neither his nor mine, honeysuckle; it’s yours,—­Henny-penny and all the rest of it, as Mrs. Linceford said.”  Leslie was glad with the crowning gladness of her bright summer.

“That girl has played her cards well,” Mrs. Thoresby said of her, a little below her voice, as she saw the General himself making her especially comfortable with Cousin Delight in a back seat.

“Particularly, my dear madam,” said Marmaduke Wharne, coming close and speaking with clear emphasis, “as she could not possibly have known that she had a trump in her hand!”

* * * * *

To tell of all that week’s journeying, and of Dixville Notch; the adventure, the brightness, the beauty, and the glory; the sympathy of abounding enjoyment, the waking of new life that it was to some of them; the interchange of thought, the cementing of friendships,—­would be to begin another story, possibly a yet longer one.  Leslie’s summer, according to the calendar, is already ended.  Much in this world must pause unfinished, or come to abrupt conclusion.  People “die suddenly at last,” after the most tedious illnesses.  “Married and lived happy ever after,” is the inclusive summary that winds up many an old tale whose time of action only runs through hours.  If in this summer-time with Leslie Goldthwaite your thoughts have broadened somewhat with hers, some questions for you have been partly answered; if it has appeared to you how a life enriches itself by drawing toward and going forth into the life of others through seeing how this began with her, it is no unfinished tale that I leave with you.

A little picture I will give you, farther on, a hint of something farther yet, and say good-by.

Some of them came back to Outledge, and stayed far into the still, rich September.  Delight and Leslie sat before the Green Cottage one morning, in the heart of a golden haze and a gorgeous bloom.