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- Джон Бакен
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The
green
gown
wavered
for
a
moment
between
two
gnarled
pines
and
then
was
lost
in
the
dead
fern
.
He
saw
it
again
in
the
cleft
of
a
tiny
rivulet
which
came
down
from
a
pile
of
rocks
,
but
he
missed
it
as
he
scrambled
up
the
steep
.
It
seemed
that
the
gown
played
tricks
with
him
and
led
him
on
,
for
,
as
he
checked
at
fault
,
he
had
a
glimpse
of
it
lower
down
,
where
an
aisle
in
the
trees
gave
a
view
of
the
bald
top
of
a
mountain
.
David
was
young
and
active
,
but
the
gown
was
swifter
than
he
,
for
as
he
went
down
the
slope
in
great
leaps
it
vanished
into
the
dusk
of
the
pines
.
He
had
it
again
,
lost
it
,
found
it
suddenly
high
above
him
-
-
always
a
glimmer
of
green
with
but
a
hint
of
a
girl
’
s
form
behind
it
.
.
.
.
David
became
wary
.
Nymph
or
human
,
it
should
not
beat
him
at
this
sport
of
hide
-
and
-
seek
.
There
was
a
line
of
low
cliffs
above
,
up
which
it
could
not
go
unless
it
took
wings
.
David
kept
the
lower
ground
,
determined
that
he
would
drive
that
which
he
followed
towards
the
cliff
line
.
He
succeeded
,
for
after
twice
trying
to
break
away
,
the
gown
fluttered
into
a
tiny
ravine
,
with
thick
scrub
on
both
sides
and
the
rock
wall
at
the
top
.
As
David
panted
upward
he
saw
in
a
mossy
place
below
the
crags
a
breathless
girl
trying
to
master
her
tumbling
tresses
.
He
stopped
short
in
a
deep
embarrassment
.
He
had
been
pursuing
a
fairy
,
and
had
found
a
mortal
-
-
a
mortal
who
looked
down
on
him
with
a
flushed
face
and
angry
eyes
.
He
was
furiously
hot
,
and
the
pace
and
his
amazement
bereft
him
of
speech
.
It
was
she
who
spoke
first
.
"
What
does
the
minister
of
Woodilee
in
the
Wood
-
-
and
bedecked
with
primroses
?
"
The
voice
was
familiar
,
and
as
he
brushed
the
sweat
from
his
eyes
the
face
too
awoke
recollection
.
She
was
far
cooler
than
he
,
but
her
cheeks
were
flushed
,
and
he
had
seen
before
those
dark
mirthful
eyes
.
Mirthful
they
were
,
for
her
anger
seemed
to
have
gone
,
and
she
was
looking
down
on
him
with
a
shy
amusement
.
She
had
recognized
him
too
,
and
had
spoken
his
name
.
.
.
.
He
had
it
.
It
was
the
girl
who
had
curtsied
to
Nicholas
Hawkshaw
’
s
guests
in
the
candle
-
light
at
Calidon
.
His
abashment
was
increased
.
"
Madam
,
"
he
stammered
,
"
Madam
,
I
thought
you
were
a
fairy
.
"
She
laughed
out
loud
with
the
abandonment
of
childhood
.
"
A
fairy
!
And
,
pray
,
sir
,
is
it
part
of
the
duties
of
a
gospel
minister
to
pursue
fairies
in
the
woods
?
"
"
I
am
shamed
,
"
he
cried
.
"
You
do
well
to
upbraid
me
.
But
on
this
spring
day
I
had
forgot
my
sacred
calling
and
dreamed
I
was
a
boy
once
more
.
"
"
I
do
not
upbraid
you
.
Indeed
I
am
glad
that
a
minister
can
still
be
a
boy
.
But
folks
do
not
come
here
,
and
I
thought
the
wood
my
own
,
so
when
I
saw
you
stumbling
among
the
fern
I
had
a
notion
to
play
a
trick
on
you
,
and
frighten
you
,
as
I
have
frightened
intruders
before
.
I
thought
you
would
run
away
.
But
you
were
too
bold
for
me
,
and
now
you
have
discovered
my
secret
.
This
wood
is
my
playground
,
where
I
can
pick
flowers
and
sing
ballads
and
be
happy
with
birds
and
beasts
.
.
.
.
You
were
a
man
before
you
were
a
minister
.
What
is
your
name
?
"
