In Which a Strange Craft Anchors in a Sea of Emerald Light; and in Which Mocking-Birds Sing in the Moonlight

Sweeping through a country of white sand and of charred trees run hard
clay highways. When motor cars from the cities and health resorts
began to invade the pines, it was found that the old wagon trails were
inadequate; hence there followed experiments which resulted in
intersecting orange-colored roads, throughout the desert-like expanse.

It was on a day in April that over the road which led up toward the
hills there sailed the snowy-white canopy of one of the strange
land-craft of that region--a schooner-wagon drawn by two fat mules who
walked at a leisurely but steady pace, seemingly without guidance from
any hand.

Yet that, beneath the hooded cover, there was a directing power, was
demonstrated, as the mules turned suddenly from the hot road to a wagon
path beneath the shelter of the pines.

It was strewn thick with brown needles, and the sharp hoofs of the
little animals made no sound. Deeper and deeper they went into the
wood, until the swinging craft and its clumsy steeds seemed to swim in
a sea of emerald light.

On and on breasting waves of golden gloom, where the sunlight sifted
in, to anchor at last in a still space where the great trees sang
overhead.

Then from beneath the canopy emerged a man in khaki.

He took off his hat, and stood for a moment looking up at the great
trees, then he called softly, "Mary."