stirs your hair. There is something in everything that brings back
Pauline: the beauty of the morning, the song of a bird or the flash of
its wings. The flowers look like she did. So I have not lost her, she
is mine more than ever. I have always felt so, but was never quite sure
until I went back and saw where they laid her. I know people think I am
crazy, but I don't care for that. I shall not hate to die. When you get
to be as old as I am, child, everything will have a new meaning to
you."

At last we slowly walked back to the cabin, and at breakfast Zebbie
told of the damage the storm had done. He was so common-place that no
one ever would have guessed his strange fancy....

I shall never forget Zebbie as I last saw him. It was the morning we
started home. After we left the bench that Zebbie lives on, our road
wound down into a deeper cañon. Zebbie had followed us to where a turn
in the cañon should hide us from view. I looked back and saw him
standing on the cliffs, high above us, the early morning sun turning
his snowy hair to gold, the breeze-fingers of Pauline tossing the
scanty locks. I shall always remember him so, a living monument to a
dead past.

ELINORE STEWART.




XII

A CONTENTED COUPLE