"Are you a spirit ?" he cried.
"You must be something unreal, you know--the way you appear and disappear.
The last time, you came out of the music of the waters, and went again the same way.

To-day, you come out of the air, or the trees, or, perhaps, that gray boulder that is giving me such trouble." Laughing, she answered, "My father and Brian Oakley taught me.

If you will watch the wild things in the woods, you can learn to do it too.

I am no more a spirit than the cougar, when it stalks a rabbit in the chaparral; or a mink, as it slips among the rocks along the creek; or a fawn, when it crouches to hide in the underbrush." "You have been fishing ?" he asked.
She laughed mockingly, "You are _so_ observing! I think you might have taken _that_ for granted, and asked what luck." "I believe I might almost take that for granted too," he returned.
"I took a few," she said carelessly.

Then, with a charming air of authority--"And now, you must go back to your work.