The evening times. [volume] (Grand Forks, N.D.) 1906-1914, 1911-11-06

LET me see" he said, eagerly. "There is the old
house on the hill. 1t still belongs to ME, l believe.
l suppose that with a wing, a new chimney, some
piazzas, that would do if it were theirs"
why, perfectly, Charles! And enough, besides.
to keep the wolf away" she added, anxiously.
I'VE will have a fine time together, putting it into
shape. You and l."
You Will possibly have some Eastern rugs?"
And worries, and %potteries, and gods, and devls.s
Let US say nothing about it! Let us just do it'll
And, on, how delightful their surprise and joy will
bel And the flush and sparkle and smile made the
old woman, for the moment, almost young again.
ut will seem" he said, what it might have seemed
forty years ago."
"f you-or I-had had a friend in the India
trade" !
"By Jove! You think it hilarious-this living ones
life vicariously."
The lot Of old age. Our happiness in theirs"
They were silent a brief space.
"You will be lonely, Eugenia," then he said. aAn. ::
gela being gone"
Not long. At most, not long" Il
THE deaths head at the FEAST" j
when the years have robbed and stripped US.
death reaches a kind hand, restoring our BIRTH
right"
Il have not your equanimity. I do not want
death. l want life, full and Astounding, and more
of it,"
You should go, on your way back, and take
those baths of high frequency, or potency, or what
ever. that they give in Paris for the new lease of
life"
"Not without you"
Il expect to have it, without going farther than
across the Dark River"
Strange he said. presently, "that the old theo-
logical imagining. which spoke in hymns of our
being bathed, hereafter, in rivers of light, antici-
pated the scientific possibility"
She sat with her needle on her lin. Thinking
Glow happy" she said, looking up, the softlv
cleaning eyes mistng with an unshed tear-"how
happy Angela and Francis will bel"
The summer wind brought them a strain of the
song Angela was singing, in a voice slender but
sweet as the sound of a flute over water:
Like a rose the morning breaks,
Day is dear, and night is deep,
Love be with her when she wakes.
Love be with me while I sleepw
He reached with the hooked handle of his stick
for a long, loose spray of the yellow Persian rose,
and brought it down to catch its thorns in her lace
and make a scarf across her shoulders with one
great blossom and half a hundred buds.
Like a rose the morning breaks" he repeated.
w used to sing that song ourselves, Eugenia.
when Francis sings it, I think l hear your
golden tenor again."
"The rose" said the old man, still gazing at her.
"has been the companion and symbol of love in all
generations. 1t is as immortal as love. Buried
in graves a thousand years it will bloom again.
And love that has been true love is equally imper-
ishable. Now I see you as you were-with that
heavenly smile. What will you do without me.
Eugenia?"
"What have I done before?:" she answered lightly.
"If on hack oyerseas shall he looking for a
letter-may l not? Tomorrow it will be coming.
And then I shall be looking for another. And life
will be full Of tomorrows-such glad tomorrows!
"But if I do not come back?"
"Then there is the wicket gate between the gard
ems"
"Cold comfort, Eugenia." I
ooh, no. In winter the snow will be swept away.
In summer the path will be strewn with fallen
flowers"
"You were leaning there one evening, with the
sweet brier blossoms empowering you, when the
moon came UP and shone full upon YOU"
ut was behind you. And you stood there. dark.
and all surrounded with its aureola."
"Eugenia, it will take the rest Of our lives to-
thread these memories
Like beads on a string Summer mornings, win.
ter evenings-if the wanderlust does not seize you.
All, there is Angela coming. Did you ever see any
thing sweeter?"
Certainly l have!"
"And Francis so tall and dark-the image of you
at his age. Is it not Already? Are they not like
pictures Of people in the Vale of Tempe? 1t is you
that will have made their days like life in one of the
Islands of the Blest! See. they suggest all the for
tunate parallels. Dear me, how soon the morning
goes!' looking at the dial, and her glance lingering
on its legend, thine turns not back She began
to fold her work. 81 think luncheon may be wait
ing. Shall we go in? I cannot give you peppers and
gingers and hot Indian sauces. There is only bread
and butter and cream and Strawberries"
81 am growing used to cool things" he said.
"Come, children. Come down to carth!" And
while with the aid of his stick he got upon his feet.
she detached the spray of yellow roses, shook it
lightly, and sent the petals of its one great full
blown flower scattering on the wind. THAT rose.
at any rate she said to herself, lis not inlmortal!'
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