not perfect. For youth calls
to youth. And Richard was yet to come!

Brinsley had brought hampers of things to eat. He had made epicurean
pilgrimages to the Baltimore markets. There were turkeys and ducks and
oysters--Smithfield hams, a young pig with an apple in its mouth.

He superintended the unloading of the hampers when Eric brought them
over. Uncle Rod shook his head as he saw them opened.

"I can make a jar of honey and a handful of almonds suffice," he said. "I
am not keen about butchered birds and beasts."

Brinsley laughed. "Don't rob me of the joy of living, Rod," he said.
"Nancy is bad enough. I wanted to send up some wine. But she wouldn't
have it. Even her mince pies are innocent. Nancy sees the whole world
through eyes of anxiety for her boy. I don't believe she'd care a snap
for temperance if she wasn't afraid that her Dicky might drink."

"Perhaps it is the individual mother's solicitude for her own particular
child which makes the feminine influence a great moral force," Rodman
ventured.

"Perhaps," carelessly. "Now Nancy has a set of wine-glasses that it is a
shame not to use." He slapped his hands to warm them. "Let's take a long
walk, Rod. I exercise to keep the fat down."

"I exercise because it is a good old world to walk in," and Rodman swung
his long lean legs into an easy stride.

They picked David up as they passed his little house. They climbed the
hill till they came to the edge of the wood where David had cut the tree.

There was a sunset over the frozen river as they turned to look at it.
The river sang no songs to-day. It was as still and silent as their own
dead youth. Yet above it was the clear gold of the evening sky.

"The last time we came we were boys," Brinsley said, "and I was in love
with Cynthia Warfield. And we were both in love with her, David; do you
remember?"

David did remember. "Anne is like her."

Rodman protested. "She is and she isn't. Anne has none of Cynthia's
faults."

Brinsley chuckled. "I'll bet you've spoiled her."

"No, I haven't. But Anne has had to work and wait for things, and it
hasn't hurt her."

"She's a beauty," Brinsley stated, "and she ought to be a belle."

"She's good," David supplemented; "the children at the little school
worship her."

"She's mine," Uncle Rod straightened his shoulders, "and in that
knowledge I envy no man anything."

As they sat late that night by Nancy's fire, Anne in a white frock played
for them, and sang