And for that dream, she was made, after her death, the great and merciful Queen of Heaven." As Heywood ended, they were entering a pastoral village, near the town, but hidden low under great trees, ancient and widely gnarled.
"You told that," said Miss Drake, "as though it had really happened." "If you believe, these things have reality; if not, they have none." His gesture, as he repeated the native maxim, committed him to neither side.
Miss Drake looked back toward the hills.
"Her dream was play, compared to--some." "That," he answered, "is abominably true." The curt, significant tone made her glance at him quickly.

In her dark eyes there was no impatience, but only trouble.
"We do better," she said, "when we are both busy." He nodded, as though reluctantly agreeing, not so much to the words as to the silence which followed.
The evening peace, which lay on the fields and hills, had flooded even the village streets.

Without pause, without haste, the endless labor of the day went on as quiet as a summer cloud.

Meeting or overtaking, coolies passed in single file, their bare feet slapping the enormous flags of antique, sunken granite, their twin baskets bobbing and creaking to the rhythm of their wincing trot.

The yellow muscles rippled strongly over straining ribs, as with serious faces, and slant eyes intent on their path, they chanted in pairs the ageless refrain, the call and answer which make burdens lighter:-- "O heh!--O ha?
O ho ho! O heh!--O ha?
O ho ho!" From hidden places sounded the whir of a jade-cutter's wheel, a cobbler's rattle, or the clanging music of a forge.