“‘Let’s go for a walk around it before you go home,’ proposed Ilse.
“We went: of course, I shouldn’t have: I should have come right home to bed, like any good consumptive. But I had just completed my autumnal course of cod-liver emulsion—ugh!—and thought I might defy the night air for once. So—we went. And it was delightful. Away over the harbour we heard the windy music of the November hills, but among the trees of the park it was calm and still. We left the road and wandered up a little side trail through the spicy fragrant evergreens on the hill. The firs and pines are always friendly, but they tell you no secrets as maples and poplars do: they never reveal their mysteries—never betray their long-guarded lore—and so, of course, they are more interesting than any other trees.
“The whole hillside was full of nice, elfish sounds and cool, elusive night smells—balsam and frosted fern. We seemed to be in the very heart of a peaceful hush. The night put her arms around us like a mother and drew us close together. We told each other everything. Of course, next day I repented me of this—though Ilse is a very satisfactory confidante and never betrays anything, even in her rages. But then it is not a Murray tradition to turn your soul inside out, even to your dearest friend. But darkness and fir balsam make people do such things. And we had lots of fun, too—Ilse is such an exhilarating companion. You're never dull a moment in her company. Altogether we had a lovely walk and came out of the park feeling dearer to each other than ever, with another beautiful memory to share. Just at the bridge we met Teddy and Perry coming off the Western Road. They’d been out for a constitutional hike. It happens to be one of the times Ilse and Perry are on speaking terms, so we all walked across the bridge together and then they went their way and we went ours. I was in bed and asleep by ten o'clock.
“But somebody saw us walking across the bridge. Next day it was all through the school: day after that all
