A silver-breasted eagle sailed slowly round and round in the blue sky, far above the bluff.

Alfred wondered what mysterious power sustained that solitary bird as he floated high in the air without perceptible movement of his broad wings.

He envied the king of birds his reign over that illimitable space, his far-reaching vision, and his freedom.

Round and round the eagle soared, higher and higher, with each perfect circle, and at last, for an instant poising as lightly as if he were about to perch on his lonely crag, he arched his wings and swooped down through the air with the swiftness of a falling arrow.
Betty's low voice, the water rushing so musically over the falls, the great yellow leaves falling into the pool, the gentle breeze stirring the clusters of goldenrod--all came softly to Alfred as he lay there with half closed eyes.
The time slipped swiftly by as only such time can.
"I fear the melancholy spirit of the day has prevailed upon you," said Betty, half wistfully.

"You did not know I had stopped reading, and I do not believe you heard my favorite poem.