After them a young girl who looked very tired came walking alone, and
then there were more men and women in a seemingly endless procession.
And so many girls and women there were in the procession that the
woman, as she came back from her Yesterdays, wondered who was left to
make homes for the world.

The sun was falling now in long bars and shafts of light between the
buildings and the trees, and the windows of the house where the man
had been fixing the roof were blazing as if in flames. The man had
taken down his ladder and gone away. It was time the young woman was
going home. And as she went, joining the procession of laborers, her
heart was filled with longing--with longing and with hope. The boy of
her Yesterdays lived only in those days that were gone. He had no
place in the dreams of her womanhood. He was only the playmate of the
little girl. Even as those years were gone the boy had gone out of her
life. But somewhere, perhaps, that one who was to go with her through
the old, old, open door was even then building for her a home--their
home. Perhaps, some day, an all wise Mother Nature would tell her to
leave the world that gave her no welcome--that could not recognize her
womanhood--that made her heart rebel in humiliation and shame--and go
to do her woman's work.

Very carefully would she go when the time came, taking all the
treasures of her womanhood. She would go very carefully that none of
her treasures be lost.