But we still stood there , for we knew we should see the Story Girl once more . Beyond the fir wood was an open curve in the road and she had promised to wave a last farewell as they passed around it . We watched the curve in silence , standing in a sorrowful little group in the sunshine of the autumn morning . The delight of the world had been ours on the golden road . It had enticed us with daisies and rewarded us with roses . Blossom and lyric had waited on our wishes . Thoughts , careless and sweet , had visited us . Laughter had been our comrade and fearless Hope our guide . But now the shadow of change was over it . `` There she is , '' cried Felicity . The Story Girl stood up and waved her chrysanthemums at us . We waved wildly back until the buggy had driven around the curve . Then we went slowly and silently back to the house . At fifteen , I became a resident in a country village , more than a hundred miles from home . The morning after my arrival -- a September morning , but warm and bright as any in July -- I rambled into a wood of oaks , with a few walnut-trees intermixed , forming the closest shade above my head . The ground was rocky , uneven , overgrown with bushes and clumps of young saplings , and traversed only by cattle-paths . The track , which I chanced to follow , led me to a crystal spring , with a border of grass , as freshly green as on May morning , and overshadowed by the limb of a great oak . One solitary sunbeam found its way down , and played like a goldfish in the water . From my childhood , I have loved to gaze into a spring . The water filled a circular basin , small but deep , and set round with stones , some of which were covered with slimy moss , the others naked , and of variegated hue , reddish , white , and brown .
The bottom was covered with coarse sand , which sparkled in the lonely sunbeam , and seemed to illuminate the XXXXX with an unborrowed light .
Blossom Laughter daisies goldfish guide house roses spring wishes world