him, musing of other days and the happy, pleasant things that were in
them, and many times he smiled, and once he laughed outright at some
remembered folly, for he said: "What a wild boy I was, and yet I meant
no wrong, and the dear old days were very happy."

Aye, aye, Parson Whitney, the dear old days were very happy, not only to
thee, but to all of us, who, following our sun, have faced westward so
long that the light of the morning shows through the dim haze of memory.
But happier than even the old days will be the young ones, I ween, when,
following still westward, we suddenly come to the gates of the east and
the morning once more; and there, in the dawn of a day which is endless,
we find our lost youth and its loves, to lose them and it no more
forever, thank God.

[Illustration: Tail piece]




The Old Beggar's Dog


[Illustration: Vignette Initial H]

He was a tramp--that is all he was--at least when I knew him. What he
had been before, I cannot say, as he never told me his history. Of
course every tramp has a history, even as every leaf that the winds blow
over the fields has its history, and my old tramp doubtless had his, and
God knows it must have been sad enough, judging by his looks, for he had
the saddest face I ever looked at, and I've seen a good many sad faces