The Golden Circle

rrived at the grove of broad, spreading willows. Off to the east

n comes out he will dress you in pink and gold. After that he will fade you to palest pale and send

er limbs in motion, the little French girl

ed until all her red petticoats were wheels. Now she threw her head back and laughed at the birds who scolded from the trees. And n

journey that she sought a lone bench beneath t

eady the fearsome clouds were beginning to lose thei

done many times before, without looking. The ne

old man he was, with long gray hair

ious. “I didn’t believe you could be. Only fa

ould not be mistaken, he touched

away. No one had ever been here at this

it seems that an invisible hand, res

ou flew,” the melodious voice we

I mean. Often thought I’d try it again. But when you have a narrow

w asked me to go up. I said it might ra

brella, and said: ‘

Rather get wet than carry

p.’ So we went up. And I took my umb

y and the houses took to looking small, he

ou got to th

lk came from China where little yellow ladies wound it off silk cocoons by hand. And the bows

n’t matter. O

If she goes out

‘That’s ja

And fall! You never saw the hou

ught of my umbrella. All silk from China it was, where little yeller women wound it out from co

rella I knew it was all right

d away like the last echo

e. It was still, and almost beautiful

re silk, and bows of forged steel. Strong as London Bridge. I opened her up, and she caught me and held me

d the touch on his arm gentle, for the little French girl loved old men with long gray hair, and she was charme

to grasp one. Then, springing to his

My grandfather’s umbrella. And such a fine umbr

Jeanne. “But see! The sun is smiling on the

danced away, “this is my l