ry Office"--the maid had left and a new one had to be engaged.
"The chemist's"--hm! life was growing dark. "The dairy"--milk had been
ordered--sterilised milk!

"Butcher, grocer, etc." The affairs of the house were being conducted
by telephone; it argued that the mistress was not at her post. No, she
wasn't, for she was laid up.

He could not read what followed, for it grew dark before his eyes; he
might have been a drowning man trying to see through salt water. And
yet, there it was written, plainly enough: "undertaker--a large coffin
and a small one." And the word "dust" was added in parenthesis.

It was the last word of the whole record. It ended with "dust"! and that
is exactly what happens in life.

He took the yellow paper, kissed it, folded it carefully, and put it in
his pocket.

In two minutes he had lived again through two years of his life.

But he was not bowed down as he left the house. On the contrary, he
carried his head high, like a happy and proud man, for he knew that the
best things life has to bestow had been given to him. And he pitied all
those from whom they are withheld.

CONQUERING HERO AND FOOL

It was on the evening of a spring day in 1880 (a day which will never
be forgotten in Sweden, because it is the day of commemoration of
a national event), when an old couple, simple country people, were
standing on the headland at the entrance to the harbour of Stockholm,
looking at the dark watercourse under the dim stars, and watching a man
who was busy with a dark, undefinable object on the landing bridge. They
stood there for a long, long time, now gazing at the dark watercourse,
now looking at the brilliant lights of the town.

At last a light appeared on the fjord, then another, then many lights.
The old man seized the woman's hand and pressed it, and in silence,
under the stars, they thanked God for having safely brought home their
son whom they had mourned as dead for a whole year.

It is true, he had not been the leader of the expedition, but he had
been one of the crew. And now he was to dine with the long, receive
an order, and, in addition to a sum of money from the nation, which
Parliament had voted for the purpose, an appointment which would mean
bread and butter for the rest of his life.

The lights grew in size as they approached; a small steamer was towing a
big dark craft, which, seen close by, looked as plain and simple as most
great things do.

And now the man on