tree-fringed banks and blue-shadowed mountains. Faintly, through the
hush, from beyond the bottom-lands on the other side of the stream, came
the long-drawn "Wh-o-e-e! Wh-o-e-e!" of farmer Jackson calling his hogs.
From the hillside, back of the house, sounded the deep, mellow tones of
a cowbell, telling Auntie Sue that neighbor Tom's cattle were going home
from their woodland pastures. A company of crows crossed the river on
leisure wing, toward some evening rendezvous. A waterfowl flapped slowly
up the stream. And here and there the swallows wheeled in graceful
circles above the gleaming Bend, or dipped, flashlike, to break the
silvery surface. As the blue of the mountains deepened to purple, and
the rosy light from below the western hills flushed the sky, the silver
sheen of the quiet water changed with the changing tints above, and the
shadows of the trees along the bank deepened until the shore-line was
lost in the dusk of the coming night.

And even as the river gave back the light of the sky and the color of
the mountains, so the gentle face of the gray-haired woman, who watched
with such loving reverence, reflected the beauty of the scene. The peace
and quiet of the evening of her life was as the still loveliness of that
twilight hour.

And, yet, there was a suggestion of pathos in the loneliness of the
slender figure standing there. Now and again, she clasped her delicate
hands to her breast as if moved by emotions of a too-poignant sweetness,
while in her eyes shone the soft light of fondest memories and dearest
dreams. Several times she turned her head to look about, as if wishing
for some one to share with her the beauty that moved her so. At last,
she called; and her voice, low and pure-toned, had in it the quality
that was in the light of her eyes.