Never uncared for, part of everything, full of the
big, rich life that brims the world in May--ah, almost fuller than
they could hold sometimes--they passed with existence along to their
appointed end.
"We began so long ago, I simply can't remember it," she sighed.
Yet the sun they watched had not left half a degree behind him since
they met.
"There was no beginning," he reproved her, smiling, "and there will
never be any end."
And the wind spread their happiness like perfume everywhere until the
whole white lawn of daisies lay singing their rapture to the
sunshine....
The minute underworld of grass and stalks seemed of a sudden to grow
large; yet, till now, they had not realised it as "large"--but simply
natural. A beetle, big and broad as a Newfoundland dog, went lumbering
past them, brushing its polished back against their trembling necks;
yet, till now, they had not thought of it as "big"--but simply normal.
Its footsteps made a grating sound like the gardener's nailed boots
upon the gravel paths. It was strange and startling. Something was
different, something was changing. They realised dimly that there was
another world somewhere, a world they had left behind long, long ago,
forgotten.
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