Thus a new plan, a new hope, was developed, and became the inspiration of effort.  She listened unweariedly as Mrs. Wayland related how she had turned the tide of her ebbing vitality.  Thus Madge gained the benefit of another’s experience.  Little by little she sought to increase her slender resources of strength.  The superb climate enabled her to live almost in the open air, and each day she exulted over an increase of vigor.  Almost everything favored her in her new home.  When she was well enough to go out much the strangers had gone, and everything in the town was restful, yet not enervating.  The Waylands, while on the best terms with other permanent residents, were not society people.  Mrs. Wayland had become satisfied with that phase of life in her youth.  Her husband was a reader, a student, and something of a naturalist.  The domestic habits which had been formed while Mrs. Wayland was an invalid still clung to them.  While never ceasing to be kind neighbors, they were more than content with books, nature, and each other.  Madge therefore had access to a very fine library, and the companionship of intellectual people who had known from contact the present world, and in whose cultivated minds dwelt the experiences of the past.  Her friends were in the habit of discussing what they read, and the basis of much of their enjoyment—­as of all true companionship—­was harmonious disagreement.  Thus the young girl was insensibly taught to think for herself and to form her own opinions.  They also proved admirable guides in directing her reading.  She felt that she had read enough for mere amusement, and now determined to become familiar with the great master-minds, so far as she was capable of following them, and to inform herself on those subjects which Mr. Wayland declared essential to an education.

If circumstances within doors were conducive to mental growth, those without were even more favorable to physical development.  The salt air and softly tempered sunshine were perpetual tonics.  The place was full of exquisite flowers.  She felt that she had never seen roses until she came to Santa Barbara.  To a wounded, sensitive spirit there is even a healing influence in the brightness and perfume of flowers.  They smiled so sweetly at her that she could not help smiling back.  The sunny days passed, one so like another that they begot serenity.  The even climate, with its sunny skies, tended to inspirit as well as to invigorate.  Almost every day she spent hours in driving and sailing, and as the season advanced she began to take ocean baths, which on that genial coast are suitable almost all the year round.  Going thus to nature for healing, she did not appeal in vain.  Strength and grace were bestowed imperceptibly, yet surely, as spring clothes the leafless tree.