n by the crackling of the paper as the old man folded it.
Presently the old lady said: "I wish Charles could get his holiday a
little sooner; he looks so tired, and he does not eat well. He does
stick so hard to his business."

"Yes, dear, he does," said the old man, "but it is just the busiest
time, and he tells me that they have had some large orders lately. They
are doing very well, I understand."

There was another silence, and then the old lady put down her letter,
and looked for a moment at a picture, representing a boy, a large
photograph a good deal faded, which hung close to her--underneath it was
a small vase of flowers on a bracket. She gave a little sigh as she did
this, and the old man looked at her over the top of his paper. "Just
think, father," she said, "that Harry would have been thirty-eight this
very week!"

The old man made a comforting sort of little noise, half sympathetic and
half deprecatory. "Yes, I know," said the old lady, "but I can't help
thinking about him a great deal at this time of the year. I don't
understand why he was taken away from us. He was always such a good
boy--he would have been just like Charles, only handsomer--he was always
handsomer and brighter; he had so much of your spirit! Not but what
Charles has been the best of sons to us--I don't mean that--no one could
be better or more easy to please! But Harry had a different way with
him." Her eyes filled with tears, which she brushed away. "No," she
added, "I won't fret about him. I daresay he is happier where he is--I
am sure he is--and thinking of his mother too, my bonny boy, perhaps."

The old man got up, put his paper down, went across to the old lady, and
gave her a kiss on the brow. "There, there," he said soothingly, "we may
be sure it's all for the best;" and he stood looking down fondly at her.
Amroth crossed the room and stood beside the pair, with a hand on the
shoulder of each. I saw in an instant that there was an unmistakable
likeness between the three; but the contrast of the marvellous
brilliance and beauty of Amroth with the old, world-wearied,
simple-minded couple was the most extraordinary thing to behold. "Yes, I
feel better already," said the old lady, smiling; "it always does me
good to say out what I am feeling, father; and then you are sure to
understand."

The mist closed suddenly in upon the scene, and we were back in a moment
in the garden with its porticoes, in the radiant, untroubled air. Am