"
Enoch looked from Diana's half eager, half abashed eyes, to the
President's keen, hawk-like face, then back to Diana.
"What gave you the idea to begin with?" asked the President.
Diana looked thoughtfully out of the window. Both men watched her with
interest. Enoch's rough hewn face, with its unalterably somber
expression, was set in an almost painful concentration. The
President's eyes were cool, yet eager.
"It is hard for me to put into words just what first led me into the
work," said Diana slowly. "I was born in a log house on the rim of the
Grand Canyon. My father was a canyon guide."
"Yes, Frank Allen, an old Yale man. I know him."
"Do you remember him?" cried Diana. "He'll be so delighted! He took
you down Bright Angel years ago."
"Of course I remember him. Give him my regards when you write to him.
And go on with your story."
"My mother was a California woman, a very good geologist. My nurse was
a Navajo woman. Somehow, by the time I was into my teens, I was
conscious of the great loss to the world in the disappearance of the
spiritual side of Indian life. I knew the Canyon well by then and I
knew the Indians well and the beauty of their ceremonies was even then
more or less merged in my mind with the beauty of the Canyon.
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