"What if it be yon fair Isle o' Milton?" he inquired, lifting an
old volume.
"Let's to the Isle o' Milton," Trove answered.
"Well, go to one o' the clocks there, an' set it back," said the
tinker.
"How much?" Trove inquired with a puzzled look.
"Well, a matter o' two hundred years," said Darrel, who was now
turning the leaves. "List ye, boy, we're up to the shore an' hard
by the city gates. How sweet the air o' this enchanted isle!
"'And west winds with musky wing
Down the cedarn alleys fling
Nard and cassia's balmy smells.'"
He quoted thoughtfully, turning the leaves. Then he read the
shorter poems,--a score of them,--his voice sounding the noble
music of the lines. It was revelation for those raw youths and led
them high. They forgot the passing of the hours and till near
midnight were as those gone to a strange country. And they long
remembered that night with Darrel of the Blessed Isles.
VIII
Dust of Diamonds in the Hour-glass
The axe of Theron Allen had opened the doors of the wilderness.
One by one the great trees fell thundering and were devoured by
fire. Now sheep and cattle were grazing on the bare hills. Around
the house he left a thicket of fir trees that howled ever as the
wind blew, as if "because the mighty were spoiled.
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