Alice Hegan Rice

“ Placing his harp in the shelter and seizing his stick, he started valiantly up the hill. The path going down to the village he knew, as the chipmunk knows his, though it be covered with the leaves of many autumns: he knew where the boughs bent over the pathway, how the rocks jutted out at the turn of the hill, and when one must put a hand against the cliff and walk close to the granite wall. But up above there, toward Fous Noddum, where the footsteps were always going, lay a strange, unknown world, and he must feel each step of the way and be guided by the cries of the lamb. ”

“ Presently Evan stirred and moaned, then suddenly a flash of joyous wonder overspread his face.
"It 's beautiful, it is!" he murmured breathlessly, "all beautiful now. Life—and—love—and death."
The years have passed, but the weather-beaten little shelter, with its pathetic inscription yet legible above the penny-box, may still be seen on the path that leads to Fous Noddum. But it is only a place for the birds and squirrels now, and no vibrant harp notes mingle with the music of the Glen. ”

“ Still Evan smiled. "I ll wait for thee, Gladdwyd," he said.
When they were gone the wood seemed very still. He had held his breath to catch every word of the revelers until they were lost in the distance. Now he rose and paced up and down the path, and the youth in him cried out in protest against his blindness. He longed to run and leap and be free, free to see the world he lived in, free to live and love like other men. ”