All around the feet of the great hills lay the garlands of early-ripened autumn.  You see nothing like it in the lowlands,—­nothing like the fire of the maples, the carbuncle-splendor of the oaks, the flash of scarlet sumachs and creepers, the illumination of every kind of little leaf in its own way, upon which the frost touch comes down from those tremendous heights that stand rimy in each morning’s sun, trying on white caps that by and by they shall pull down heavily over their brows, till they cloak all their shoulders also in the like sculptured folds, to stand and wait, blind, awful chrysalides, through the long winter of their death and silence.

Delight and Leslie had got letters from the Josselyns and Dakie Thayne.  There was news in them such as thrills always the half-comprehending sympathies of girlhood.  Leslie’s vague suggestion of romance had become fulfillment.  Dakie Thayne was wild with rejoicing that dear old Noll was to marry Sue.  “She had always made him think of Noll, and his ways and likings, ever since that day of the game of chess that by his means came to grief.  It was awful slang, but he could not help it:  it was just the very jolliest go!”

Susan Josselyn’s quiet letter said,—­“That kindness which kept us on and made it beautiful for us, strangers, at Outledge, has brought to me, by God’s providence, this great happiness of my life.”

After a long pause of trying to take it in, Leslie looked up.  “What a summer this has been!  So full; so much has happened!  I feel as if I had been living such a great deal!”

“You have been living in others’ lives.  You have had a great deal to do with what has happened.”

“Oh, Cousin Delight!  I have only been among it!  I could not do—­except such a very little.”

“There is a working from us beyond our own.  But if our working runs with that?—­You have done more than you will ever know, little one.”  Delight Goldthwaite spoke very tenderly.  Her own life, somehow, had been closely touched, through that which had grown and gathered about Leslie.  “It depends on that abiding.  ’In me, and I in you; so shall ye bear much fruit.’”

She stopped.  She would not say more.  Leslie thought her talking rather wide of the first suggestion; but this child would never know, as Delight had said, what a centre, in her simple, loving way, she had been for the working of a purpose beyond her thought.

Sin Saxon came across the lawn, crowned with gold and scarlet, trailing creepers twined about her shoulders, and flames of beauty in her full hands.  “Miss Craydocke says she praised God with every leaf she took.  I’m afraid I forgot to, for the little ones.  But I was so greedy and so busy, getting them all for her.  Come, Miss Craydocke; we’ve got no end of pressing to do, to save half of them!”

“She can’t do enough for her.  Oh, Cousin Delight, the leaves are glorified, after all!  Asenath never was so charming; and she is more beautiful than ever!”