Excerpt from The Quest of the Ring As Philmon grew, the years of Timon became many. The hair at his temples whitened, his steps 'were slower, his'eyes were duller, his face more wrinkled than in the days of the boy's childhood. Thus it was that when he was grown, Philmon tilled the fields alone just as his father had tilled them before him, hearkening in all things unto his father's counsel and advice. Timon, also, told him of the things that had been, told him of the beginning of all things, and of the great men who had beenbefore him; taught him the signs of the stars, the old_folk songs and legends and all the many things he had learned in the years of his life; and to all this Philmon listened diligently, so that none was wiser than he in the knowledge that came from living. Now it so happened that one summer's day, as Philmon was working in his father's fields, he became wearied, and laid him down in the shade of a great oak tree to rest. The fragrance of green, growing things came to him, the lazy hum of tiny Winged creatures sounded in his ears, patches of a too brilliant sky made him half close his eyes, and the unbroken peaceful ness of all things about him brought over him such a drowsiness that in a short while he fell into a deep sleep. Shadows flitted before his eyes, shapes of things that he could not distinguish; all that he could un derstand was that they were happy with a happiness that he had never known. Then. There came strains of music, faint at first, but growing more and more distinct, rising and falling in a melody so sweet that all the cares and the longings of his heart seemed to flee away; and in the midst of the music there were words, - words so wonderful that while he understood them not, yet he felt that he should understand; words that he had known once long since, but had strangely forgotten. The music stopped; there was a hush, a deep silence, and in the mist there appeared a Ring of the purest gold, burnished until it shonelike the sun, so that it was impossible to look upon it steadily. For a moment it hung there, and then just as suddenly as it had come, so it vanished; and a voice, - soft, low, allur ingly sweet, - called. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.