She leaned back in the buggy, her thin hands clasped before her, her face lifted rapturously to the white splendor above.

Even when they had passed out and were driving down the long slope to Newbridge she never moved or spoke.

Still with rapt face she gazed afar into the sunset west, with eyes that saw visions trooping splendidly across that glowing background.

Through Newbridge, a bustling little village where dogs barked at them and small boys hooted and curious faces peered from the windows, they drove, still in silence.

When three more miles had dropped away behind them the child had not spoken.