brave dreams of his boyhood she had gone--even as his Yesterdays.

The bobo-link had long ago left his swinging bush. The meadow lark had
gone to find his mate in a distant field. The twittering bluebirds had
finished their tasks. The woodpecker had ceased from his labor. The
sunshine was failing fast. Faint and far away, through the still
twilight air, came the long, clear, whistle of another train that was
following swiftly the iron ways to the world of men.

The man on the hill came back from his Yesterdays--came back to
wonder: "where is the little girl now? Has she changed much? Her eyes
would be the same and her hair--only a little darker perhaps. And does
she ever go back into the Yesterdays? It is not likely," he thought,
"no doubt she is far too busy caring for her children and attending to
her household duties to think of her childhood days and her childhood
playmate. And what would her husband be like?" he wondered.

There was no woman in the dreams of the man who that afternoon, for
the first time, realized his manhood and began his manhood life. He
dreamed only of the deeds that he would do; of the work he would
accomplish; of the place he would win; and of the honors he would
receive. The little girl lived for him only in his Yesterdays. She did
not belong to his manhood years. She had no place in his manhood
dreams.

Slowly he climbed the rail fence again and, through the orchard, went
down the hill toward the house. But he did not again enter the house.
He went on past the kitchen porch to the garden gate where he stood,
for some minutes, looking toward the hedge that separated the two
places and toward the cherry tree that grew in the corner of the