`` Oh , no , it is n't , '' said the Story Girl quickly . `` When you know things you have to go by facts . But when you just dream about things there 's nothing to hold you down . '' `` You 're letting the taffy scorch , and THAT 'S a fact you 'd better go by , '' said Felicity sniffing . `` Have n't you got a nose ? '' When we went to bed , that wonderful white enchantress , the moon , was making an elf-land of the snow-misted world outside . From where I lay I could see the sharp tops of the spruces against the silvery sky . The frost was abroad , and the winds were still and the land lay in glamour . Across the hall , the Story Girl was telling Felicity and Cecily the old , old tale of Argive Helen and `` evil-hearted Paris . '' `` But that 's a bad story , '' said Felicity when the tale was ended . `` She left her husband and run away with another man . '' `` I suppose it was bad four thousand years ago , '' admitted the Story Girl . `` But by this time the bad must have all gone out of it . It 's only the good that could last so long . '' Our summer was over . It had been a beautiful one . We had known the sweetness of common joys , the delight of dawns , the dream and glamour of noontides , the long , purple peace of carefree nights . We had had the pleasure of bird song , of silver rain on greening fields , of storm among the trees , of blossoming meadows , and of the converse of whispering leaves . We had had brotherhood with wind and star , with books and tales , and hearth fires of autumn . Ours had been the little , loving tasks of every day , blithe companionship , shared thoughts , and adventuring .
Rich were we in the memory of those opulent months that had XXXXX from us -- richer than we then knew or suspected .
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