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Updated: May 3, 2025
A kingfisher flashed across the open on his way back to the brook near at hand, fleeing from the still splendor of the sun-fired woods, where he was but a courtier, to the little winding world of gray stones and water, where he was a jewelled king.
Encouraging Bess to hurry pulling at his patient, plodding burro, he climbed the soft, steep trail. Brighter and brighter grew the light. He mounted the last broken edge of rim to have the sun-fired, purple sage-slope burst upon him as a glory. Bess panted up to his side, tugging on the halter of her burro. "We're up!" he cried, joyously. "There's not a dot on the sage We're safe.
Here the cloud mass thinned and paled, and a tint of rose began to flush the billowy, flowery, creamy white. Then came the surpassing splendor of this cloud pageant a vast canopy of shell pink, a sun-fired surface like an opal sea, rippled and webbed, with the exquisite texture of an Oriental fabric, pure, delicate, lovely as no work of human hands could be.
Jastrow acquiesced a second time. "I shouldn't wonder. Our competitor's road seems to be only a question of time a very short time, judging from the number of men turning out in the track gang down yonder." Virginia leaned over the railing to look past the car and the dovecote station shading her eyes to shut out the snow-blink from the sun-fired peaks. "Why, they are soldiers!" she exclaimed.
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