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THE STORY WITHOUT AN END
foliage, with the deep blue heavens between, gleamed so wondrously upon him. His sorrow was all forgotten, and even the echo of the discord in his little heart was hushed. That heart was once more in his eyes, and fain would he have drunk in the soft beauty of the colours that lay beneath him, or have plunged into the lovely deep.
Then the breeze began to sigh among the tree-tops. The Child raised his eyes and saw overhead the quivering green, and the deep blue behind it, and he knew not whether he were awake or dreaming: which were the real leaves and the real
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