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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78909 ***
+
+
+
+
+                         As Holy and Enchanted
+
+                          by Henderson Starke
+                      [Pseudonym of Kris Neville]
+
+
+
+
+  _She was as fragile as a snowflake. Around her there was the heady,
+  unspoiled spirit of Nature, and when Nick saw her he forgot about
+  the petty troubles at the garage, forgot about the bustle and
+  noise of the city, ignored the stinks and ugly sights of a giant
+  metropolis--and found his way to the sorrow and heartbreak of an
+  impossible love!_
+
+
+[Illustration: Illustrator: Norman Nodel]
+
+
+
+
+For him spring mornings had a character all their own, an indefinable
+essence that the mornings of the other seasons never had. And the best
+spring morning of all was a Sunday spring morning--when he did not
+go to the shop, when he awoke in time to hear the sleepy chirping of
+the English sparrows in the false dawn, when he loved to lie in bed,
+sleepy-warm, and smell the sweet, new air and dream lazy dreams.
+
+Then when, beyond the skyline of dingy buildings, the heavens began to
+color rose, he would get out of bed and yawn and expect, secretly, that
+today something very fine and wonderful was going to happen to him.
+
+Those mornings, he would put on his only suit, somewhat shiny from
+use, his favorite blue tie, a clear-sky blue, clean his shoes and,
+whistling, hurry out to meet the sun so that he would not lose another
+minute of the wonderful new day.
+
+He always went first to the park. The park, before all the people came,
+was very quiet and peaceful. There was soft, lacy dew on the grass. And
+always, as he felt the trees around him, he imagined that he was far
+away from the city and in the midst of some delicate virginity, pure
+and sweet. The noises of civilization faded. The squirrels came out and
+chattered in the treetops. Occasionally he would hear the soft plunk
+of an acorn dropped from above. The birds’ songs were clear. And the
+little, burbling fountain was surrounded by cooing pigeons who sidled
+away, unafraid, to let him pass.
+
+One particular Sunday morning, the fairest yet of all the year, when
+he came to the edge of his park, he was aware, more intensely than
+ever before, that this was the day for the strange, wonderful thing
+to happen to him. As he walked along, the knowledge became unbearably
+sweet within him, and it made the inside of his nose tickle with
+emotion.
+
+The sun was fronted by the skyline, for it was newly risen. The air was
+fresh as only the air of spring can be. It was filled with the scents
+of new-born flowers and the long ago.
+
+He stepped from the gravel path upon which he had been walking and onto
+the springy grass; his mind was alive with the delicious sensation of
+secrecy. He imagined that this, his short-cut to the burbling fountain,
+was mysteriously concealed from others and belonged to him alone among
+mortals. He did not walk either too slow or too swift; slow enough to
+be conscious of all the sounds around him and all the little, life
+movements; swift enough to satisfy his urge to hurry on and meet the
+wonderful thing that would be sure to be waiting for him among the
+pigeons.
+
+All at once, rudely shattering his thoughts, he heard an unusual,
+frantic fluttering from a treetop to his left. He turned his head in
+time to see a brown sparrow falling toward the earth, desperately
+trying to break its fall.
+
+At the first instantaneous image, he felt sorry for it; scarcely with
+thought, he walked to where it lay on the grass, hoping there might be
+some way he could help it.
+
+The sparrow was panting and, seeing the man-form, it fluttered its
+wings in fear.
+
+He bent quickly to pick it up; it cheep-cheeped shrilly. He was very
+careful not to hurt it. He could feel its tiny heart beating against
+the palm of his hand. Gently as he could, he felt of its wings and its
+legs to see if they were broken and was relieved to find that they were
+not.
+
+“Hello.”
+
+The girl’s voice was very sweet and very startling. Sweet because of
+some melodious quality, like that of a native ballad singer; startling
+because he had thought himself alone.
+
+In quick surprise, he opened his hand; the sparrow fluttered and then
+flew. He stared at his hand, at the disappearing bird, and then turned
+to the speaker.
+
+“You did fix him,” the girl said. “I was sure you were going to, and
+that’s why I spoke.”
+
+He felt a shuddery current, something like fear, although strangely
+pleasant, creep up his spine. She was a beautiful girl, lithe and
+slender, and straight as a Georgia pine. Her hair was sunrise gold; her
+eyes, the brown of hazel nuts; and her teeth, uncovered by lips dewy
+with youth, flashed white in a quick, easy smile that reminded him of
+polar snow.
+
+“I’m Mona,” she said, holding out her slim, white hand to him.
+
+Slowly he reached out to meet the hand. It felt warm and firm in his.
+He continued to stare blankly into her face, and then, realizing that
+he was being very impolite, he felt his face begin to redden.
+
+“Hello,” he said, for want of anything better to say.
+
+She withdrew her hand; he felt the absence of it sharply.
+
+“What’s your name?” she asked. Her voice was like no voice he had ever
+heard; it was open and vibrant and warm and friendly and thrilling. It
+had just the trace of an accent.
+
+“I’m--I’m Nick.”
+
+“Nick,” she said, “Nick,” drawing out the word as if she were taking it
+apart with her voice and finding all the hidden layers of meaning in
+it. “I like that name.” Then, seeing that he was still watching her,
+she smiled with pleasure and pirouetted skillfully on the grass, making
+her snow-white skirt billow out with the movement, holding her arms
+wide apart. She ended up facing him again. “It _is_ a beautiful dress,
+isn’t it?”
+
+He said, “Yes; it’s a beautiful dress.”
+
+She laughed, and her laughter was like little bells, or like the
+silvery tinkle of a fast-flowing mountain brook. “I’m glad,” she said.
+“I thought it would be what you liked.” She tossed her head, making her
+hair flash out around it in a momentary, magic halo.
+
+“You’re--beautiful, too,” he said. Immediately, he was chilled by the
+thought that she might turn and run away like a frightened faun.
+
+“Do you really think so?”
+
+“You’re more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen,” he said. “...I
+shouldn’t have said that. It just--sort of came out.”
+
+“I’m glad it did.” She laughed again, and then she was beside him, her
+hand lightly resting upon his arm. He could smell the flower-fresh
+nearness of her; his throat swelled when she looked up into his face.
+
+“I hoped you’d like me,” she said.
+
+He felt lost in her eyes, her beautiful, brown eyes. He said nothing,
+for there was nothing to say, and a numbness was in his mind.
+
+“Are you working today?” she asked.
+
+Behind the numbness, there were puzzles, but looking down at her, he
+was sure they were not essential, and he wished they would go away; the
+important thing was just to answer her and hear her voice again.
+
+“No, Mona,” he said.
+
+She wrinkled her brow prettily. “Oh; I thought you were working....
+When I saw you here, I thought you were, and that’s why I knew to speak
+to you, but I’m glad you’re not. ...I have a whole week to myself, and
+it’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
+
+He said, “I think it’s very wonderful.”
+
+“Where were you going, just now?” she asked, widening her eyes in
+innocent questioning.
+
+“Me?” he said, and then he was embarrassed for saying it, because of
+course she meant him. “Oh, o--h. Just walking. Over to the fountain.
+The pigeons all come down to drink, early in the morning, before the
+people come....” Her smile was warm. “You know the fountain with the
+pigeons around it?” he finished, having lost the thread of thought in
+her smile.
+
+“No,” she said. “I don’t belong here.” And then she said, as if it
+explained everything, “I belong in Nebraska and Australia. I just came
+here for a week before I have to go on down to Australia.”
+
+“Oh,” he said.
+
+“Which way is the fountain? I’d love to see it; it must be quite pretty
+if you like it.”
+
+“It’s--it’s just a fountain.... I’ll--I’ll show it to you, if you want
+me to.”
+
+“Of course I do.”
+
+And the two of them, her hand lightly on his arm, began to walk through
+the park. “You’re the first one I’ve met down here,” she said. “I was
+so in hopes I’d meet some of us; it’s lonely with no one to talk to.”
+
+“Yes,” he said, “I know. I’m often lonely.”
+
+Her eyes turned serious-sympathetic. “I’m sorry,” she said, and
+her voice was full of understanding in a way he had never imagined
+possible. “I’m very sorry, Nick....” And then, with a little shout of
+joy, “Oh! That must be your wonderful fountain!”
+
+“Yes,” he said. Only now it did not seem so wonderful. He wanted to
+show her all the things more wonderful. He thought of the sunrise on
+tall mountains, and the flat, level blue of the ocean off Hawaii, and
+the burning of pine logs in a New England fireplace when the snow lay
+piled outside and the air was sharp, and the high, tumbling waterfalls
+in Africa that broke into rainbow spray, and all the other marvelous
+things he had read about during all his life.
+
+She ran from him, scattering the startled pigeons, who fluttered a few
+feet and immediately resumed their endless search for food, to sit down
+on the old stone rim of the fountain. She dipped her hand lightly in
+the water; she drew it along with a free, graceful movement that was
+like a caress. “It feels so nice,” she said. “I like water very much.
+Clear water. Like rain.” She stared dreamily into it. “I work with
+water every day--almost and yet: It’s always so beautiful.”
+
+He had not moved. “You’re beautiful,” he said again in child-like
+wonder, knowing that to say it would not make her run away.
+
+“Silly! You weren’t listening to what I said!” She flipped some of the
+water from her hand, playfully. Then, when she saw it hit on his suit,
+she sprang up....
+
+“Oh! I’m sorry, Nicky. I didn’t mean to get your suit all wet.” She
+stood before him, looking up at him. “And such a pretty suit. You won’t
+be mad at me, will you? Because then you’d go away and I wouldn’t have
+anyone to talk to.”
+
+He felt the lump in his throat; it had been there for a long time.
+“Mona,” he said, “I don’t think I’d ever want to go away.”
+
+“You say the nicest things.” She took his hand and drew him, with
+gentle pressure, to the stones of the fountain. The pigeons, cooing
+softly, opened a little isle for them that closed as soon as they had
+passed.
+
+“Sit down, Nicky,” she said.
+
+For a moment she sat there beside him, silent, staring into the unquiet
+water, seeing the flicker and gleam of darting goldfish outlined
+sharply against the green of the gently waving moss. The falling water
+sprayed and dimpled the surface, making the fish seem fluidly unreal.
+
+He watched the mirrored mood on her face.
+
+“I think you have one of the best jobs,” she said.
+
+Instinctively, he looked away from her and stared into the burbling
+fountain, too. Thinking of his job made him briefly miserable. His face
+grew hot. Then he was afraid she would see that he was ashamed. That
+made it all the worse. He hoped she was still staring into the water.
+
+Looking back at her, he saw that she seemed dainty, fragile, somehow
+like a snowflake or a delicate crystal or something that would shatter
+with the first rumble of horizon thunder. He knew he must never say
+anything she did not want him to say--or she might go away, and he
+would never see her again.
+
+“It’s all right,” he said.
+
+“I think it’s the most wonderful job,” she insisted gently.
+
+“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I suppose it really is.”
+
+Suddenly she asked, “Did you notice the sunrise this morning?”
+
+“Yes,” he said.
+
+“It was a beautiful sunrise. Robert does them for Nebraska--do you know
+him?--and he’s very good--but I don’t know: this one, this morning: I
+think they must use more colors, down here.”
+
+He felt his throat constrict. He felt cold inside. He said, “I think
+they must,” and waited.
+
+“Yes, I guess they do,” she said, smiling up at him. “Oh! I’m so glad I
+met you!” She held out both of her hands, and he took them in his.
+
+“Hazel eyes,” he said, “beautiful hazel eyes.”
+
+“Nicky,” she said, “could you get off? I have the whole week here.”
+
+“I--I--.”
+
+“And you could show me the city--if you wanted to--that would be
+fun--don’t you think so?--do you often go into the city at all?--and
+take me dancing, and--it would be just wonderful if you could.”
+
+She sprang away from him and danced around him, laughing, humming
+a little, sad-funny tune that he had never heard. “I’m a very good
+dancer.” And she spun in a series of intricate steps, executed with
+happy grace.
+
+When she ceased, her cheeks were rosy from her efforts, and her breath
+came quickly. “Come.” She held out her hand. “Let’s walk, and you can
+talk to me, and I can talk to you, and neither of us will be lonely.”
+
+He stood, and she came to him. “Lead me,” she said. “Show me your
+wonderful park.”
+
+They began to walk; and, as they walked, she chattered happily,
+occasionally looking up at him for approval, talking of the trees and
+the birds and the wind and the grass and the change of the seasons.
+She talked in youth and enthusiasm. Once she paused to laugh at a gray
+squirrel, and it looked down at her quizzically, over the acorn it was
+holding in its forepaws.
+
+He listened and half listened and sometimes only heard the sweet melody
+of her voice, rising and falling, reminding him of the pleasant wind in
+the scented trees and the quiet sea.
+
+Time moved, or stood still, or was not; it did not matter.
+
+Then, in their aimless walk, they came to the edge of the park and
+looked out on the city.
+
+“Oh! How very big and pretty. And exciting! Do you often go out there,
+Nicky?”
+
+“Quite often,” he said, wanting to go back into the park, afraid that
+the city would break and shatter her with its many muted rumbles.
+
+“It must be fun--to be where you’re able to. You’ll show it to me,
+won’t you? You promised, remember? And tell me about it? About the
+buildings? And the streets?”
+
+“Yes,” he said, taking her hand; she squeezed in soft, answering
+pressure. “If you really want to see it.”
+
+Like two little children, hand in hand, they walked out into the city.
+
+Their feet made the sharp clatter of the city; the Sunday traffic made
+the subdued roar of the city; the people’s voices made the dry-sadness
+of the city.
+
+Her questions came quickly, tumbling over themselves in flying
+curiosity, jumping with the speed of thought from subject to subject.
+He answered them all, softly, quietly, as if talking to a little girl
+who was first seeing the city and trying to know it all in a single
+hour. It gave him a sweet sense of belonging, and her eager wonder at
+his knowledge filled him with a pride and a joy he had never known.
+
+“Here,” he said, pointing to a new-shiny building, with doors gleaming
+with brass and windows sparkling with sunshine. “This. It’s built on
+the very spot where an ancient, Spanish monastery once stood.”
+
+“You know so very much. About the strangest things--about these people.”
+
+“I come here often,” he said.
+
+“...We’ve been walking for a long time,” she said.
+
+“Are you tired?”
+
+“Not very.”
+
+“Neither am I,” he said.
+
+“No; you only get tired when you’re lonely; and we’re not....” Her
+voice trailed away. “Look, Nicky! A tree.... It seems funny to see a
+tree here, among all these buildings: like it was growing out of the
+pavement instead of the ground.”
+
+“Yes; it does seem like that,” he said.
+
+“I wonder if it’s a happy tree; do you think so, Nicky?”
+
+“I guess it is....”
+
+“Look: Mona?” he said.
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“I.... Look: Are you hungry?”
+
+“...Are you?”
+
+“Yes,” he said, “Let’s go eat.”
+
+“All right.” She laughed lightly. “That sounds like fun.”
+
+When, shortly, they arrived at the door of a restaurant, he said, “Go
+on in.”
+
+“It’ll be all right?” she asked doubtfully.
+
+“Of course.”
+
+He guided her to a table and, when they ordered, she followed his lead,
+saying what he said, watching the waitress cautiously, out of the
+corner of her eye.
+
+“I don’t know how you do it,” she said, looking up after the girl had
+left their table. “I’d be afraid to death, if you weren’t with me.”
+
+“You get used to it,” he said.
+
+“Of course you do.... Nicky? I’d love to live here--where I could come
+into the city--do all these wonderful things--whenever I wanted to.”
+
+“Would you really like to live here?” he asked, and his voice sounded
+dry and strained.
+
+“Oh, very much, Nicky. I’d love to live here--almost better than
+anything.” And having said that, she was suddenly very shy; she looked
+down at the snowy tablecloth and ran her fingertips over it.
+
+He was not sure what to say; the palms of his hands were moist. And he
+was glad when the lunch arrived.
+
+After the waitress left, they looked up and stared into each other’s
+eyes.
+
+“Well,” he said, looking down at the food, “it looks all right to me.”
+
+“Yes,” she said, “it’s just fine.”
+
+There was a motionless silence.
+
+“Well,” he said. He picked up his water-glass and sipped, watching her.
+
+She picked up her glass and sipped, watching him.
+
+He put the glass down and speared into the salad with his fork. She
+imitated him. She chewed the salad carefully. She said, hesitatingly,
+“It’s very good, isn’t it?”
+
+“Yes,” he said, “it sure is.”
+
+“Ummmm,” she said.
+
+He broke off a piece of french bread, buttered it.
+
+She broke off a piece of french bread, buttered it.
+
+“Look--?” he said.
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“--Nothing.”
+
+She took more salad. “Does it snow often, here?”
+
+“Snow?” He put down his knife across the edge of his plate. “...Hasn’t
+for years. Last time was thirty-three, I think.”
+
+“Oh, yes,” she said. “I remember, now.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When the lights in the theater went off, she stiffened. And, with
+the first trumpet jar of the newsreel music, she said, “Ohhhh,” very
+softly. After that, for a few minutes, she was on the edge of her seat,
+watching wide-eyed. Once she said, “Oh, Nicky, look!”
+
+But soon she settled down and rested her head on his shoulder. He
+slipped his arm around her. It seemed natural that he should. She moved
+closer to him; her hand found his. She made a little noise, deep in
+her throat, like a purr. “I like this,” she whispered. “Better than
+anything I’ve ever done.”
+
+He kissed her silken hair, knew the electric nearness of her, and
+nothing else mattered.
+
+When the movie was over, they walked again; sunset brooded in the west;
+the air was warm and exotic, as if blowing from the far away, from a
+never, never land of strange, perfumed flowers. And the day had been
+long and sweet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The cab swung into the paved semi-circle before the tall building. They
+got out. In the dim light, her dress glowed whitely; she stared up and
+up, her eyes widening with the vast height of the building.
+
+“It’s on the roof,” he whispered to her, as soon as he had paid the cab.
+
+“I’m--I’m afraid,” she half whimpered.
+
+“It’s only a dance,” he said.
+
+They walked into the hotel and through the huge lobby, feeling, in
+that moment, alone against the world. She pressed to him as if for
+protection. Beautifully dressed people moved around them, so rich with
+assurance.
+
+They crossed the foyer; they entered the elevator with an elderly man
+in a tuxedo; “The Top,” the man said, as if he were accustomed to
+saying it.
+
+Nick wondered if he had enough money. He had heard that this was an
+expensive place.
+
+“Ohhhhh,” she said as the elevator began to move.
+
+The elderly gentleman looked at her strangely.
+
+Nick patted her arm and smiled at her; she smiled back, uncertainly.
+
+When the elevator sighed to a stop, the operator slid open the door.
+The three passengers stepped out.
+
+The sight of the room; the music; the muted sigh of conversation; the
+lights; the women with their jewelry; the reflection in the curved
+mirror of the bar; the smell of food; the deep, blood-red, silencing
+carpet.
+
+She seemed overcome with the bright glitter of it. He felt cold and a
+little frightened with the strange glamor of it. It was something like
+a movie set; unreal, like that, to him. He wondered how the men moved
+with such poise.
+
+After a few moments, the head waiter came to them; he raised his
+eyebrows as if to ask if they had a reservation, then he seemed to
+reconsider. “A table for two, sir?” he asked.
+
+“Yes.... Please,” Nick said.
+
+“If you’ll come this way, sir...?”
+
+They followed him.
+
+And they were seated. The table was small and secluded.
+
+He sat very stiffly, waiting, very conscious of his shiny suit. She
+turned immediately toward the dance floor. She watched the dancing
+bodies mold together in waltz rhythm; she swayed with them, and her
+eyes were wide and starry with rapt attention. She turned back to him.
+“I never knew it was this wonderful,” she said, “and it almost makes
+you wish....”
+
+“Wish what?” he asked, after a moment.
+
+She studied his face as if memorizing it; her eyes seemed suddenly
+turned sad. “Nothing, Nicky,” she said.
+
+Eventually, the silent waiter handed them huge, elaborate menus.
+
+He glanced at his and felt a momentary sickness; it passed, and he was
+ashamed of it.
+
+“Would you like to eat?” he asked, but his voice sounded thin to his
+ears.
+
+She stared across the menu at him. “Silly! We’ve already eaten: have
+you forgotten?”
+
+“Yes, that’s right.” He tried a smile at the waiter that didn’t quite
+come off. “A drink, then?” he asked her.
+
+“Should we?”
+
+“This once,” he said. “What would you like?”
+
+“Whatever you’d like.”
+
+“Champagne,” he said, because he had read that men who felt like he
+felt should buy champagne for the girl they felt that way about.
+
+The waiter bowed. “Yes, sir.” He began to name champagnes.
+
+Nick listened, repeated the fifth name after the waiter; he hoped it
+would be all right.
+
+When they were alone again, he looked across at her. “Darling,” he
+said, surprised at his own courage.
+
+“Yes?” Her lips were shining red.
+
+“Darling, I.... I.... I....” He knew perfectly well what he wanted to
+say. He was annoyed to find that his voice refused to respond. The
+moment passed. “Do you like champagne?” he finished desperately.
+
+“I don’t know. Do you?”
+
+“It’s--all right.”
+
+“If it’s what you like, I’ll like it too,” she said.
+
+After the wine was in their glasses, he raised his and sipped to her.
+
+“It’s all funny-bubbly and sour,” she said. Then hastily, “But I like
+it, Nicky; I really do.”
+
+His hand curled the stem of his glass; the vessel seemed springily
+cushioned on the heavy whiteness of the tablecloth.
+
+“Nick,” she said. “Every minute’s been wonderful.” Color came into her
+cheeks.
+
+He looked down at the rising, breaking bubbles and spoke to them
+softly. “I don’t know how to say this. I’ve never said it before. I
+wouldn’t say it to any other girl, ever.” He was surprised to hear the
+words; and glad and afraid. “Mona,” he said, “I’m in love with you.
+I’ve known it for hours.” He did not look up.
+
+There was silence; he thought he heard her sigh, wistfully.
+
+“Nicky, Nicky. I knew I loved you when I saw you there, fixing that
+poor, little bird.”
+
+He looked up, then.
+
+“But Nick,” she said, “I’m afraid that you....”
+
+“No. Don’t spoil it. Don’t say anything. Right now. We’ll have to say
+things later. Be still and listen, now.”
+
+They listened; and then they danced; they danced on a carpet of clouds.
+
+“Hold me tight,” she whispered, “very tight, and say that you love me.”
+
+She danced airy and delicate and snuggled warmly, and her white dress
+flowed in animated grace, coming alive around her.
+
+The room glided away and back, to the dip and swoop of the waltz, and
+she followed him, her head thrown back slightly, her lips half parted,
+her eyes lightly closed and fluttering.
+
+He found himself dancing slowly toward the door and out of the room,
+onto the open terrace, into the pale moonlight of the waning moon. It
+seemed, almost, as if, somehow, she had led him, very gently.
+
+They stopped dancing and walked to the edge and looked down on the city
+sparkling there under them.
+
+She was warm in his arm.
+
+He turned to her, looked down into her wonderful eyes, and the stars of
+the city and the sky, too, were there.
+
+Her face seemed alive with the moment, in a life drawn from all
+the wonderful, eloquent silences of vast nature; her delicately
+molded features were impossibly perfect; and her skin was smooth and
+life-blood warm. And yet, there was sadness there, too.
+
+“Mona,” he whispered, “will you marry me?”
+
+“I--don’t know,” she breathed softly. “Oh, Nick, I do so hope so!”
+
+“I don’t understand,” he said. “I--want--to,” she said very slowly.
+“Only I couldn’t come down here. You see, I only know one job. But
+maybe, in a little while, in just a few years, you could get a transfer
+and come to Nebraska.”
+
+“Mona,” he said, “you wouldn’t have to work.” He felt her stiffen in
+his arms. “Of course, at first, it might be hard.” He went on talking,
+but he knew she wasn’t listening. “But I can get promotions; I know I
+can, if I have you to work for.... I’m not making very much now,but
+maybe in a couple of years, I’ll be a foreman, and then....”
+
+She drew away. “Oh, Nick, oh, no.” Her voice was a choked sob. “I
+thought....” She checked herself. “And then I was afraid that you....”
+She looked up at him and said, in a whisper, “Nick, what is your job?”
+
+“It isn’t much, now, darling, but....”
+
+“Please, Nick. What is it?”
+
+“I’m a mechanic,” he said; it made him feel miserable; because he knew
+that was not what she wanted to hear.
+
+She moaned. “I--I was--afraid.... No. I guess I knew, down deep, from
+the first, that you weren’t.... But I wouldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t
+_let_ myself believe it. In the city, I was almost sure, once, but I
+couldn’t ask you. When--I saw you--in the park--with that--that bird,
+I thought your job was to--to fix all the little birds and animals
+that got hurt--and then when you said, before the _people_ come to the
+fountain, I was almost sure, for a little while, and then afterwards, I
+was afraid to ask, when I wasn’t sure any more. But....
+
+“You weren’t; you aren’t,” she finished hopelessly.
+
+“Mona,” he said, “please don’t say those things. You’re talking
+nonsense.”
+
+She shook her head. “No, Nick. Not nonsense.”
+
+She began to cry. She stood very still and very straight. Her lower lip
+trembled. “Nick,” she said, “it’s been the most wonderful day ever; and
+I’ll never forget it. Not ever.
+
+“Nick,” she said, very softly, “I’m sorry I did this to you.” She
+started to put out her hand to caress his face, and then she drew it
+back without touching him.
+
+He swallowed and wanted to touch her and take her in his arms and say,
+“It’s a dream, what you’re saying, you don’t mean it, you’re just
+teasing me and you....” But he said, “Mona, Mona, what is your job?”
+And he said it so low that she could scarcely hear him.
+
+She looked deep into his eyes, and her lip was quivering.
+
+“Oh, Nick, Nick. Darling.” Her voice was an eerie whisper now. “Nick, I
+make snowflakes.”
+
+Suddenly he was alone. He turned his eyes up to the mute stars. And he
+felt something soft and wet strike against his hot face; they were like
+gentle kisses; and he knew what they were.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s note:
+
+
+  This etext was produced from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader,
+  April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2).
+
+  Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but
+  minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78909 ***