Her eyes were closed; Tom thought at first that she was asleep: but there was a quiet smile about her pale lips; and every now and then her left hand left Grace's, to move toward a leaf full of strawberries which lay on Grace's lap; and Tom could see that she was listening intently to Grace, who told and told, in that sweet, measured voice of hers, her head erect, her face in the full blaze of sunshine, her great eyes looking out far away beyond the sea, beyond the sky, into some infinite which only she beheld.
Tom had approached unheard, across the farm-yard straw.

He stood and looked his fill.

The attitude of the two girls was so graceful, that he was loth to disturb it; and loth, too, to disturb a certain sunny calm which warmed at once and softened his stout heart.
He wished, too--he scarce knew why--to hear what Grace was saying; and as he listened, her voice was so distinct and delicate in its modulations, that every word came clearly to his ear.
It was the beautiful old legend of St.Dorothea:-- "So they did all sorts of dreadful things to her, and then led her away to die; and they stood laughing there.

But after a little time there came a boy, the prettiest boy that ever was seen on earth, and in his hand a basket full of fruits and flowers, more beautiful than tongue can tell.

And he said, 'Dorothea sends you these, out of the heavenly garden which she told you of--will you believe her now ?' And then, before they could reply, he vanished away.