at myself. The change of air and scene had seemingly broken a malign
influence, and sleep--that for weeks had almost forsaken me--had
yielded its deep refreshment for fifteen hours. Besides, I had not
sinned against my life so many years as to have destroyed the
elasticity of early manhood. When I had lain down to rest I had felt
myself to be a weary, broken, aged man. Had I, in my dreams,
discovered the Fountain of Youth, and unconsciously bathed in it? In
my rebound toward health of mind and body I seemed to have realized
what the old Spaniard vainly hoped for.

I dressed in haste, eager to be out in the early June sunshine. There
had been a shower in the night, and the air had a fine exhilarating
quality, in contrast with the close sultriness of the previous
afternoon.

Instead of nibbling at breakfast while I devoured the morning dailies,
I ate a substantial meal, and only thought of papers to bless their
absence, and then walked down the village street with the quick glad
tread of one whose hope and zest in life have been renewed. Fragrant
June roses were opening on every side, and it appeared to me that all
the sin of man could not make the world offensive to heaven that
morning.

I wished that some of the villagers whom I met were more in accord
with Nature's mood; but in view of my own shortcomings, and still more
because of my fine physical condition, I was disposed toward a large
charity. And yet I could not help wondering how some that I saw could
walk among their roses and still look so glum and matter-of-fact. I
felt as if I could kiss every velvet petal.