on, and even covered the black roofs of the station buildings and the
flatcars which stood in the yard. It seemed like a beautiful white
decoration for the occasion, a beautiful, heavy, elaborate
mourning--for those who had gone--and white, of course--all
white,--because they were so young!

* * * * *

Then we came home. It was near the opening time of the stores, and the
girls were on their way to work, but their footfalls made no sound on
the pavement. Even the street-cars seemed to glide quietly by. The
city seemed grave and serious and sad, and disposed to go softly....
In the store windows the blinds were still down--ghastly, shirred
white things which reminded me uncomfortably of the lining of a
coffin! Over the hotel on the corner, the Calgary Beer Man, growing
pale in the sickly dawn, still poured--and lifted--and drank--and
poured--and lifted--and drank,--insatiable as the gods of war.

* * * * *

I wandered idly through the house--what a desolate thing a house can
be when every corner of it holds a memory!--not a memory either, for
that bears the thought of something past,--when every corner of it is
full of a boyish presence!... I can hear him rushing down the stairs
in the morning to get the paper, and shouting the headlines to me as
he brings it up. I can hear him come in at the front door and thump
his books down on the hall seat, and call "Mother!" I sit down and
summon them all, for I know they will fade soon enough--the thin,
sharp edge of everything wears mercifully blunt in time!