opportunities? And if you chanced to hear him crying over his empty
basket later on, would you not revile him for a lazy fellow? We all of
us, from day to day, miss chances of far greater value than the ripest
peach that ever mellowed in the sun. The opportunity to say a kind and
encouraging word swings low upon the bough of to-day. Why not gather
it in? The chance to help, to succor, to protect, the chance to lend a
helping hand, to share a burden, to soothe a sorrow, to plant a loving
thought, or twine a memory that shall blossom like a rose upon the
terrace of to-morrow, all are our own as we pass through the world on
our way to heaven. We may not come this way again. See to it, then,
that we carry full baskets on the homeward faring.




XIX.

A SUNSET CLOUD.

Not long ago there slowly ascended into the evening sky a pillar of
cloud so vast that all measurements sank into insignificance beside it.
Its color was of softest gray just touched with the flush that deepens
the inmost chamber of a shell, or blushes in the unfolded petals of a
wind flower. With majestic yet almost imperceptible motion this cloud
mounted the blue background of the sky. The spectre of a faded moon
hung motionless above it an instant only, and then was swiftly drawn
within its soft eclipse. Changing from moment to moment, the great
mass took on all semblances of vivid fancy, until the evening sky
seemed the arena of dreamland's cohorts. With indescribable grace and
with the delicate lightness of a fairy footfall the mighty visitant