"
The quaint tale was ended, and Gwen lay quiet for some moments, then
said gently:
"Yes! The canyon flowers are much the best. Tell me what it means."
Then The Pilot read to her: "The fruits--I'll read 'flowers'--of the
Spirit are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness,
faith, meekness, self-control, and some of these grow only in the
canyon."
"Which are the canyon flowers?" asked Gwen softly, and The Pilot
answered:
"Gentleness, meekness, self-control; but though the others, love, joy,
peace, bloom in the open, yet never with so rich a bloom and so sweet a
perfume as in the canyon."
For a long time Gwen lay quite still, and then said wistfully, while her
lip trembled:
"There are no flowers in my canyon, but only ragged rocks."
"Some day they will bloom, Gwen dear; He will find them, and we, too,
shall see them."
Then he said good-by and took me away. He had done his work that day.
We rode through the big gate, down the sloping hill, past the smiling,
twinkling little lake, and down again out of the broad sunshine into
the shadows and soft lights of the canyon. As we followed the trail
that wound among the elms and cedars, the very air was full of gentle
stillness; and as we moved we seemed to feel the touch of loving hands
that lingered while they left us, and every flower and tree and vine
and shrub and the soft mosses and the deep-bedded ferns whispered, as we
passed, of love and peace and joy.
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