pollen, which the next wind will carry away. We are dying already; it is
all a dream.

"I know that thought. When the fever of living is on us, when the desire
to become, to know, to do, is driving us mad, we can use it as an anodyne,
to still the fever and cool our beating pulses. But it is a poison, not a
food. If we live on it it will turn our blood to ice; we might as well be
dead. We must not, Waldo; I want your life to be beautiful, to end in
something. You are nobler and stronger than I," she said; "and as much
better as one of God's great angels is better than a sinning man. Your
life must go for something."

"Yes, we will work," he said.

She moved closer to him and lay still, his black curls touching her smooth
little head.

Doss, who had lain at his master's side, climbed over the bench, and curled
himself up in her lap. She drew her skirt up over him, and the three sat
motionless for a long time.

"Waldo," she said, suddenly, "they are laughing at us."

"Who?" he asked, starting up.

"They--the stars!" she said, softly. "Do you not see? There is a little
white, mocking finger pointing down at us from each one of them! We are
talking of tomorrow and tomorrow, and our hearts are so strong; we are not
thinking of something that can touch us softly in the dark and make us
still forever. They are laughing at us Waldo."