ThatwasthefirstthingTheaKronborgfeltabouttheforest，asshedrovethroughitoneMaymorninginHenryBiltmer’sdemocratwagon——anditwasthefirstgreatforestshehadeverseen。ShehadgotoffthetrainatFlag—
staffthatmorning，rolledoffintothehigh，chillairwhenallthepinesonthemountainwerefiredbysunrise，sothatsheseemedtofallfromsleepdirectlyintotheforest。
OldBiltmerfollowedafaintwagontrailwhichransouth—
east，andwhich，astheytraveled，continuallydippedlower，fallingawayfromthehighplateauontheslopeofwhichFlagstaffsits。Thewhitepeakofthemountain，thesnow
gorgesabovethetimber，nowdisappearedfromtimetotimeastheroaddroppedanddropped，andtheforestclosedbehindthewagon。Morethanthemountaindisappearedastheforestclosedthus。Theaseemedtobetakingverylittlethroughthewoodwithher。Thepersonalityofwhichshewassotiredseemedtoletgoofher。Thehigh，spark—
lingairdrankituplikeblotting—paper。ItwaslostinthethrillingblueofthenewskyandthesongofthethinwindinthePINONS。Theold，frettedlineswhichmarkedoneoff，whichdefinedher，——madeherTheaKronborg，Bowers’saccompanist，asopranowithafaultymiddlevoice，——wereallerased。
Sofarshehadfailed。HertwoyearsinChicagohadnotresultedinanything。ShehadfailedwithHarsanyi，andshehadmadenogreatprogresswithhervoice。ShehadcometobelievethatwhateverBowershadtaughtherwasofsecondaryimportance，andthatintheessentialthingsshehadmadenoadvance。Herstudentlifeclosedbehindher，liketheforest，andshedoubtedwhethershecouldgobacktoitifshetried。Probablyshewouldteachmusicinlittlecountrytownsallherlife。Failurewasnotsotragicasshewouldhavesupposed；shewastiredenoughnottocare。
Shewasgettingbacktotheearliestsourcesofgladnessthatshecouldremember。Shehadlovedthesun，andthebrilliantsolitudesofsandandsun，longbeforetheseotherthingshadcomealongtofastenthemselvesuponherandtormenther。Thatnight，whensheclamberedintoherbigGermanfeatherbed，shefeltcompletelyreleasedfromtheenslavingdesiretogetonintheworld。Darknesshadonceagainthesweetwonderthatithadinchildhood。
II
THEA’SlifeattheOttenburgranchwassimpleandfulloflight，likethedaysthemselves。Sheawokeeverymorningwhenthefirstfierceshaftsofsunlightdartedthroughthecurtainlesswindowsofherroomattheranchhouse。Afterbreakfastshetookherlunch—basketandwentdowntothecanyon。Usuallyshedidnotreturnuntilsunset。
PantherCanyonwaslikeathousandothers——oneofthoseabruptfissureswithwhichtheearthintheSouthwestisriddled；soabruptthatyoumightwalkovertheedgeofanyoneofthemonadarknightandneverknowwhathadhappenedtoyou。ThiscanyonheadedontheOttenburgranch，aboutamilefromtheranchhouse，anditwasacces—
sibleonlyatitshead。Thecanyonwalls，forthefirsttwohundredfeetbelowthesurface，wereperpendicularcliffs，stripedwitheven—runningstrataofrock。Fromthereontothebottomthesideswerelessabrupt，wereshelving，andlightlyfringedwithPINONSanddwarfcedars。Theeffectwasthatofagentlercanyonwithinawilderone。
ThedeadcitylayatthepointwheretheperpendicularouterwallceasedandtheV—shapedinnergorgebegan。
Thereastratumofrock，softerthanthoseabove，hadbeenhollowedoutbytheactionoftimeuntilitwaslikeadeepgrooverunningalongthesidesofthecanyon。Inthishollow（likeagreatfoldintherock）theAncientPeoplehadbuilttheirhousesofyellowishstoneandmor—
tar。Theover—hangingcliffabovemadearooftwohun—
dredfeetthick。Thehardstratumbelowwasanever—
lastingfloor。Thehousesstoodalonginarow，likethebuildingsinacityblock，orlikeabarracks。
Inbothwallsofthecanyonthesamestreakofsoftrock
hadbeenwashedout，andthelonghorizontalgroovehadbeenbuiltupwithhouses。Thedeadcityhadthustwostreets，onesetineithercliff，facingeachotheracrosstheravine，withariverofblueairbetweenthem。
Thecanyontwistedandwoundlikeasnake，andthesetwostreetswentonforfourmilesormore，interruptedbytheabruptturningsofthegorge，butbeginningagainwithineachturn。Thecanyonhadadozenofthesefalseendingsnearitshead。Beyond，thewindingswerelargerandlessperceptible，anditwentonforahundredmiles，toonarrow，precipitous，andterribleformantofollowit。
TheCliffDwellerslikedwidecanyons，wherethegreatcliffscaughtthesun。PantherCanyonhadbeendesertedforhundredsofyearswhenthefirstSpanishmissionariescameintoArizona，butthemasonryofthehouseswasstillwonderfullyfirm；hadcrumbledonlywherealandslideorarollingboulderhadtornit。
Allthehousesinthecanyonwerecleanwiththeclean—
nessofsun—baked，wind—sweptplaces，andtheyallsmelledofthetoughlittlecedarsthattwistedthemselvesintotheverydoorways。Oneoftheserock—roomsTheatookforherown。Fredhadtoldherhowtomakeitcomfortable。ThedayaftershecameoldHenrybroughtoverononeofthepack—poniesarollofNavajoblanketsthatbelongedtoFred，andThealinedhercavewiththem。Theroomwasnotmorethaneightbytenfeet，andshecouldtouchthestoneroofwithherfinger—tips。Thiswasheroldidea：anestinahighcliff，fullofsun。Allmorninglongthesunbeatuponhercliff，whiletheruinsontheoppositesideofthecanyonwereinshadow。Intheafternoon，whenshehadtheshadeoftwohundredfeetofrockwall，theruinsontheothersideofthegulfstoodoutintheblazingsun—
light。Beforeherdoorranthenarrow，windingpaththathadbeenthestreetoftheAncientPeople。Theyuccaandniggerheadcactusgreweverywhere。Fromherdoorstepshelookedoutontheocher—coloredslopethatrandown
severalhundredfeettothestream，andthishotrockwassparselygrownwithdwarftrees。Theircolorsweresopalethattheshadowsofthelittletreesontherockstoodoutsharperthanthetreesthemselves。WhenTheafirstcame，thechokecherrybusheswereinblossom，andthescentofthemwasalmostsickeninglysweetafterashower。Attheverybottomofthecanyon，alongthestream，therewasathreadofbright，flickering，golden—green，——cottonwoodseedlings。Theymadealiving，chatteringscreenbehindwhichshetookherbatheverymorning。
TheawentdowntothestreambytheIndianwatertrail。Shehadfoundabathing—poolwithasandbottom，wherethecreekwasdamnedbyfallentrees。Theclimbbackwaslongandsteep，andwhenshereachedherlittlehouseinthecliffshealwaysfeltfreshdelightinitscom—
fortandinaccessibility。Bythetimeshegotthere，thewoollyred—and—grayblanketsweresaturatedwithsun—
light，andshesometimesfellasleepassoonasshestretchedherbodyontheirwarmsurfaces。Sheusedtowonderatherowninactivity。Shecouldlietherehourafterhourinthesunandlistentothestridentwhirofthebiglocusts，andtothelight，ironicallaughterofthequakingasps。Allherlifeshehadbeenhurryingandsputtering，asifshehadbeenbornbehindtimeandhadbeentryingtocatchup。Now，shereflected，asshedrewherselfoutlongupontherugs，itwasasifshewerewaitingforsomethingtocatchupwithher。Shehadgottoaplacewhereshewasoutofthestreamofmeaninglessactivityandundirectedeffort。
Hereshecouldlieforhalfadayundistracted，holdingpleasantandincompleteconceptionsinhermind——almostinherhands。Theywerescarcelyclearenoughtobecalledideas。Theyhadsomethingtodowithfragranceandcolorandsound，butalmostnothingtodowithwords。Shewassingingverylittlenow，butasongwouldgothroughherheadallmorning，asaspringkeepswellingup，anditwas
likeapleasantsensationindefinitelyprolonged。Itwasmuchmorelikeasensationthanlikeanidea，oranactofremembering。Musichadnevercometoherinthatsensu—
ousformbefore。Ithadalwaysbeenathingtobestruggledwith，hadalwaysbroughtanxietyandexaltationandcha—
grin——nevercontentandindolence。Theabegantowon—
derwhetherpeoplecouldnotutterlylosethepowertowork，astheycanlosetheirvoiceortheirmemory。Shehadalwaysbeenalittledrudge，hurryingfromonetasktoanother——asifitmattered！Andnowherpowertothinkseemedconvertedintoapowerofsustainedsensation。Shecouldbecomeamerereceptacleforheat，orbecomeacolor，likethebrightlizardsthatdartedaboutonthehotstonesoutsideherdoor；orshecouldbecomeacontinuousrepeti—
tionofsound，likethecicadas。
III
THEfacultyofobservationwasneverhighlydevelopedinTheaKronborg。Agreatdealescapedhereyeasshepassedthroughtheworld。Butthethingswhichwereforher，shesaw；sheexperiencedthemphysicallyandre—
memberedthemasiftheyhadoncebeenapartofherself。
Therosessheusedtoseeintheflorists’shopsinChicagoweremerelyroses。Butwhenshethoughtofthemoon—
flowersthatgrewoverMrs。Tellamantez’sdoor，itwasasifshehadbeenthatvineandhadopenedupinwhiteflow—
erseverynight。Therewerememoriesoflightonthesandhills，ofmassesofprickly—pearblossomsshehadfoundinthedesertinearlychildhood，ofthelateafternoonsunpour—
ingthroughthegrapeleavesandthemintbedinMrs。
Kohler’sgarden，whichshewouldneverlose。Theserecol—
lectionswereapartofhermindandpersonality。InChicagoshehadgotalmostnothingthatwentintohersubconsciousselfandtookrootthere。Buthere，inPantherCanyon，therewereagainthingswhichseemeddestinedforher。
PantherCanyonwasthehomeofinnumerableswallows。
TheybuiltnestsinthewallfarabovethehollowgrooveinwhichThea’sownrockchamberlay。Theyseldomven—
turedabovetherimofthecanyon，totheflat，wind—swepttableland。Theirworldwastheblueair—riverbetweenthecanyonwalls。Inthatbluegulfthearrow—shapedbirdsswamalldaylong，withonlyanoccasionalmovementofthewings。Theonlysadthingaboutthemwastheirtim—
idity；thewayinwhichtheylivedtheirlivesbetweentheechoingcliffsandneverdaredtoriseoutoftheshadowofthecanyonwalls。Astheyswampastherdoor，Theaoftenfelthoweasyitwouldbetodreamone’slifeoutinsomecleftintheworld。
Fromtheancientdwellingtherecamealwaysadignified，unobtrusivesadness；nowstronger，nowfainter，——likethearomaticsmellwhichthedwarfcedarsgaveoutinthesun，——butalwayspresent，apartoftheaironebreathed。
Atnight，whenTheadreamedaboutthecanyon，——orintheearlymorningwhenshehurriedtowardit，anticipatingit，——herconceptionofitwasofyellowrocksbakinginsunlight，theswallows，thecedarsmell，andthatpeculiarsadness——avoiceoutofthepast，notveryloud，thatwentonsayingafewsimplethingstothesolitudeeternally。
Standingupinherlodge，Theacouldwithherthumbnaildislodgeflakesofcarbonfromtherockroof——thecooking—smokeoftheAncientPeople。Theywerethatnear！Atimid，nest—buildingfolk，liketheswallows。HowoftenThearememberedRayKennedy’smoralizingaboutthecliffcities。Heusedtosaythatheneverfeltthehard—
nessofthehumanstruggleorthesadnessofhistoryashefeltitamongthoseruins。Heusedtosay，too，thatitmadeonefeelanobligationtodoone’sbest。OnthefirstdaythatTheaclimbedthewatertrailshebegantohaveintui—
tionsaboutthewomenwhohadwornthepath，andwhohadspentsogreatapartoftheirlivesgoingupanddownit。Shefoundherselftryingtowalkastheymusthavewalked，withafeelinginherfeetandkneesandloinswhichshehadneverknownbefore，——whichmusthavecomeuptoheroutoftheaccustomeddustofthatrockytrail。ShecouldfeeltheweightofanIndianbabyhangingtoherbackassheclimbed。
Theemptyhouses，amongwhichshewanderedintheafternoon，theblanketedoneinwhichshelayallmorning，werehauntedbycertainfearsanddesires；feelingsaboutwarmthandcoldandwaterandphysicalstrength。ItseemedtoTheathatacertainunderstandingofthoseoldpeoplecameuptoheroutoftherockshelfonwhichshelay；thatcertainfeelingsweretransmittedtoher，suggestionsthatweresimple，insistent，andmonotonous，
likethebeatingofIndiandrums。Theywerenotexpressi—
bleinwords，butseemedrathertotranslatethemselvesintoattitudesofbody，intodegreesofmusculartensionorrelaxation；thenakedstrengthofyouth，sharpasthesun—
shafts；thecrouchingtimorousnessofage，thesullennessofwomenwhowaitedfortheircaptors。Atthefirstturningofthecanyontherewasahalf—ruinedtowerofyellowmasonry，awatch—toweruponwhichtheyoungmenusedtoenticeeaglesandsnarethemwithnets。SometimesforawholemorningTheacouldseethecopperybreastandshouldersofanIndianyouththereagainstthesky；
seehimthrowthenet，andwatchthestrugglewiththeeagle。
OldHenryBiltmer，attheranch，hadbeenagreatdealamongthePuebloIndianswhoarethedescendantsoftheCliff—Dwellers。AftersupperheusedtositandsmokehispipebythekitchenstoveandtalktoTheaaboutthem。
Hehadneverfoundanyonebeforewhowasinterestedinhisruins。EverySundaytheoldmanprowledaboutinthecanyon，andhehadcometoknowagooddealmoreaboutitthanhecouldaccountfor。HehadgatheredupawholechestfulofCliff—DwellerrelicswhichhemeanttotakebacktoGermanywithhimsomeday。HetaughtTheahowtofindthingsamongtheruins：grinding—stones，anddrillsandneedlesmadeofturkey—bones。Therewerefrag—
mentsofpotteryeverywhere。OldHenryexplainedtoherthattheAncientPeoplehaddevelopedmasonryandpot—
teryfarbeyondanyothercrafts。Aftertheyhadmadehousesforthemselves，thenextthingwastohousethepreciouswater。Heexplainedtoherhowalltheircustomsandceremoniesandtheirreligionwentbacktowater。Themenprovidedthefood，butwaterwasthecareofthewo—
men。Thestupidwomencarriedwaterformostoftheirlives；theclevereronesmadethevesselstoholdit。Theirpotterywastheirmostdirectappealtowater，theenvelopeandsheathofthepreciouselementitself。Thestrongest
Indianneedwasexpressedinthosegracefuljars，fashionedslowlybyhand，withouttheaidofawheel。
WhenTheatookherbathatthebottomofthecanyon，inthesunnypoolbehindthescreenofcottonwoods，shesometimesfeltasifthewatermusthavesovereignquali—
ties，fromhavingbeentheobjectofsomuchserviceanddesire。Thatstreamwastheonlylivingthingleftofthedramathathadbeenplayedoutinthecanyoncenturiesago。Intherapid，restlessheartofit，flowingswifterthantherest，therewasacontinuityoflifethatreachedbackintotheoldtime。Theglitteringthreadofcurrenthadakindoflightlyworn，looselyknitpersonality，gracefulandlaughing。Thea’sbathcametohaveaceremonialgravity。
Theatmosphereofthecanyonwasritualistic。
Onemorning，asshewasstandinguprightinthepool，splashingwaterbetweenhershoulder—bladeswithabigsponge，somethingflashedthroughhermindthatmadeherdrawherselfupandstandstilluntilthewaterhadquitedrieduponherflushedskin。Thestreamandthebrokenpottery：whatwasanyartbutanefforttomakeasheath，amouldinwhichtoimprisonforamomenttheshining，elusiveelementwhichislifeitself，——lifehurryingpastusandrunningaway，toostrongtostop，toosweettolose？TheIndianwomenhadhelditintheirjars。InthesculptureshehadseenintheArtInstitute，ithadbeencaughtinaflashofarrestedmotion。Insinging，onemadeavesselofone’sthroatandnostrilsandhelditonone’sbreath，caughtthestreaminascaleofnaturalintervals。
IV
THEAhadasuperstitiousfeelingaboutthepotsherds，andlikedbettertoleavetheminthedwellingswhereshefoundthem。Ifshetookafewbitsbacktoherownlodgeandhidthemundertheblankets，shediditguiltily，asifshewerebeingwatched。Shewasaguestinthesehouses，andoughttobehaveassuch。Nearlyeveryafternoonshewenttothechamberswhichcontainedthemostinterestingfragmentsofpottery，satandlookedatthemforawhile。Someofthemwerebeautifullydeco—
rated。Thiscare，expendeduponvesselsthatcouldnotholdfoodorwateranybetterfortheadditionallaborputuponthem，madeherheartgoouttothoseancientpotters。Theyhadnotonlyexpressedtheirdesire，buttheyhadexpresseditasbeautifullyastheycould。Food，fire，water，andsomethingelse——evenhere，inthiscrackintheworld，sofarbackinthenightofthepast！Downhereatthebeginningthatpainfulthingwasalreadystirring；theseedofsorrow，andofsomuchdelight。
Therewerejarsdoneinadelicateoverlay，likepinecones；andthereweremanypatternsinalowrelief，likebasket—work。Someofthepotterywasdecoratedincolor，redandbrown，blackandwhite，ingracefulgeo—
metricalpatterns。Oneday，onafragmentofashallowbowl，shefoundacrestedserpent’shead，paintedinredonterra—cotta。Againshefoundhalfabowlwithabroadbandofwhitecliff—housespaintedonablackground。
Theywerescarcelyconventionalizedatall；theretheywereintheblackborder，justastheystoodintherockbeforeher。Itbroughthercenturiesnearertothesepeo—
pletofindthattheysawtheirhousesexactlyasshesawthem。
Yes，RayKennedywasright。Allthesethingsmadeonefeelthatoneoughttodoone’sbest，andhelptofulfillsomedesireofthedustthatsleptthere。Adreamhadbeendreamedtherelongago，inthenightofages，andthewindhadwhisperedsomepromisetothesadnessofthesavage。
Intheirownway，thosepeoplehadfeltthebeginningsofwhatwastocome。Thesepotsherdswerelikefettersthatboundonetoalongchainofhumanendeavor。
NotonlydidtheworldseemolderandrichertoTheanow，butsheherselfseemedolder。Shehadneverbeenaloneforsolongbefore，orthoughtsomuch。Nothinghadeverengrossedhersodeeplyasthedailycontemplationofthatlineofpale—yellowhousestuckedintothewrinkleofthecliff。MoonstoneandChicagohadbecomevague。Hereeverythingwassimpleanddefinite，asthingshadbeeninchildhood。Hermindwaslikearagbagintowhichshehadbeenfranticallythrustingwhatevershecouldgrab。Andhereshemustthrowthislumberaway。Thethingsthatwerereallyhersseparatedthemselvesfromtherest。Herideasweresimplified，becamesharperandclearer。Shefeltunitedandstrong。
WhenTheahadbeenattheOttenburgranchfortwomonths，shegotaletterfromFredannouncingthathe\"mightbealongatalmostanytimenow。\"Thelettercameatnight，andthenextmorningshetookitdownintothecanyonwithher。Shewasdelightedthathewascomingsoon。Shehadneverfeltsogratefultoanyone，andshewantedtotellhimeverythingthathadhappenedtohersinceshehadbeenthere——morethanhadhappenedinallherlifebefore。CertainlyshelikedFredbetterthananyoneelseintheworld。TherewasHarsanyi，ofcourse——butHarsanyiwasalwaystired。Justnow，andhere，shewantedsomeonewhohadneverbeentired，whocouldcatchanideaandrunwithit。
Shewasashamedtothinkwhatanapprehensivedrudge
shemustalwayshaveseemedtoFred，andshewonderedwhyhehadconcernedhimselfaboutheratall。Perhapsshewouldneverbesohappyorsogood—lookingagain，andshewouldlikeFredtoseeher，foronce，atherbest。
Shehadnotbeensingingmuch，butsheknewthathervoicewasmoreinterestingthanithadeverbeenbefore。
Shehadbeguntounderstandthat——withher，atleast——
voicewas，firstofall，vitality；alightnessinthebodyandadrivingpowerintheblood。Ifshehadthat，shecouldsing。Whenshefeltsokeenlyalive，lyingonthatinsensi—
bleshelfofstone，whenherbodyboundedlikearubberballawayfromitshardness，thenshecouldsing。This，too，shecouldexplaintoFred。Hewouldknowwhatshemeant。
Anotherweekpassed。Theadidthesamethingsasbefore，feltthesameinfluences，wentoverthesameideas；
buttherewasaliveliermovementinherthoughts，andafresheningofsensation，likethebrightnesswhichcameovertheunderbrushafterashower。Apersistentaffirmation——
ordenial——wasgoingoninher，likethetappingofthewoodpeckerintheonetallpinetreeacrossthechasm。
Musicalphrasesdroveeachotherrapidlythroughhermind，andthesongofthecicadawasnowtoolongandtoosharp。Everythingseemedsuddenlytotaketheformofadesireforaction。
Itwaswhileshewasinthisabstractedstate，waitingfortheclocktostrike，thatTheaatlastmadeuphermindwhatshewasgoingtotrytodointheworld，andthatshewasgoingtoGermanytostudywithoutfurtherlossoftime。
OnlybythemerestchancehadsheevergottoPantherCanyon。TherewascertainlynokindlyProvidencethatdirectedone’slife；andone’sparentsdidnotintheleastcarewhatbecameofone，solongasonedidnotmisbehaveandendangertheircomfort。One’slifewasatthemercyofblindchance。Shehadbettertakeitinherownhandsandloseeverythingthanmeeklydrawtheploughundertherodofparentalguidance。Shehadseenitwhenshewasat
homelastsummer，——thehostilityofcomfortable，self—
satisfiedpeopletowardanyseriouseffort。Eventoherfatheritseemedindecorous。Whenevershespokeseriously，helookedapologetic。YetshehadclungfasttowhateverwasleftofMoonstoneinhermind。Nomoreofthat！TheCliff—Dwellershadlengthenedherpast。Shehadolderandhigherobligations。
V
ONESundayafternoonlateinJulyoldHenryBiltmerwasrheumaticallydescendingintotheheadofthecanyon。TheSundaybeforehadbeenoneofthosecloudydays——fortunatelyrare——whenthelifegoesoutofthatcountryanditbecomesagrayghost，anempty，shiveringuncertainty。Henryhadspentthedayinthebarn；hiscanyonwasarealityonlywhenitwasfloodedwiththelightofitsgreatlamp，whentheyellowrockscastpurpleshad—
ows，andtheresinwasfairlycookinginthecorkscrewcedars。Theyuccaswereinblossomnow。Outofeachclumpofsharpbayonetleavesroseatallstalkhungwithgreenish—whitebellswiththick，fleshypetals。Thenigger—
headcactuswasthrustingitscrimsonbloomsupoutofeverycreviceintherocks。
Henryhadcomeoutonthepretextofhuntingaspadeandpick—axethatyoungOttenburghadborrowed，buthewaskeepinghiseyesopen。Hewasreallyverycuriousaboutthenewoccupantsofthecanyon，andwhattheyfoundtodotherealldaylong。Helethiseyetravelalongthegulfforamileorsotothefirstturning，wherethefis—
surezigzaggedoutandthenrecededbehindastoneprom—
ontoryonwhichstoodtheyellowish，crumblingruinoftheoldwatch—tower。
Fromthebaseofthistower，whichnowthrewitsshadowforward，bitsofrockkeptflyingoutintotheopengulf——skatingupontheairuntiltheylosttheirmomen—
tum，thenfallinglikechipsuntiltheyrangupontheledgesatthebottomofthegorgeorsplashedintothestream。
Biltmershadedhiseyeswithhishand。Thereontheprom—
ontory，againstthecream—coloredcliff，weretwofiguresnimblymovinginthelight，bothslenderandagile，entirely
absorbedintheirgame。Theylookedliketwoboys。Bothwerehatlessandbothworewhiteshirts。
Henryforgothispick—axeandfollowedthetrailbeforethecliff—housestowardthetower。Behindthetower，ashewellknew，wereheapsofstones，largeandsmall，piledagainstthefaceofthecliff。HehadalwaysbelievedthattheIndianwatchmenpiledthemthereforammunition。
TheaandFredhadcomeuponthesemissilesandwerethrowingthemfordistance。AsBiltmerapproachedhecouldhearthemlaughing，andhecaughtThea’svoice，highandexcited，witharingofvexationinit。Fredwasteachinghertothrowaheavystonelikeadiscus。WhenitwasFred’sturn，hesentatriangular—shapedstoneoutintotheairwithconsiderableskill。Theawatchediten—