It was her intention to build something in the nature of a
high, high hill. She patted the surface of the sand, and behold! it was
instantly a beautiful shape, very smooth and shining.
It was hot, her hat fell back, her knees were thick with the good brown
earth--that once lovely creation of Florice was stained and black.
She then began softly, partly to herself, partly to her father, and
partly to that other Friend who had helped her to these splendours, a
song of joy and happiness. To the ordinary observer, it might have
seemed merely a discordant noise proceeding from a little girl engaged
in the making of mud pies. It was, in reality, as the chestnut tree, the
birds, the fountain, the flowers, the various small children, even the
very earth she played with, understood, a fine offering--thanksgiving
and triumphal p?an to the God of Heaven, of the earth, and of the waters
that were under the earth.
Munty himself caught the refrain. He was recalled to a day when mud pies
had been to him also things of surpassing joy. There was a day when, a
naked and very ugly little boy, he had danced beside a mountain burn.
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