ork. Every day is the same, except Sunday, when I make up the
book-keeping for the whole week and prepare statements and the like, to
begin the usual round on Monday morning. It is a hell of a life and I
wish it were done. I have some consolation in being able to call up at
will those that I love. I have many a waking dream, while tramping the
hills, about the comrades that have added to the joys of my former
existence. Let me hear from you occasionally, because a letter from you
seems to revive some of the old feeling that formerly made life
passable.'

* * * * *

"I suppose I shall recover in time from Jim's death. I wish I could have
been with him when he died. During his last half-unconscious moments the
nurse proposed to send for a priest. Jim's soul must have made a last
effort, for raising himself erect, he flung these words: 'I hire no
spiritual nurse,' and then asked his daughter of fourteen to bring him
a volume of Emerson and read to him. When she returned with the book, he
was gone.

"Of course, the doctor and all the wise ones have diagnosed Jim's case.
But I think he sized up his case in that letter I sent you. He died of
that great loneliness of soul which made of his wasted body a battered
barricade against the stupidity which finally engulphed him. The soul of
social and individual honour and commercial integrity, he had the
misfortune to find few like himself. He yearned for the ideal; and I am
sure he went down with that hope for humanity. Let us trust that there
is an ever increasing number of human beings who have Jim's
malady--'seekers after something in this world, that is there in no
satisfying measure, or not at all.' If this letter seems boisterously
blue, remember it is only the sullen marching of the black sap preceding
the unfurling of the emerald banners of spring, when all things break
into a 'shrill green.'"

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Terry's letter, like Marie's, I give verbatim.--H. H.

CHAPTER VII

_The Meeting_

The mood of rebellious idealism sometimes expresses itself in actual
anti-social conduct and life. So it was with Terry. He is the most
consistent anarchist I have known, in the sense that he more nearly
rejects, practically, all social institutions and forms of conduct and
morality. He is very sweet, and very gentle, loves children and is
tender to every felt relation. There is a wistful look always in his
eyes. He is tall, thin, and ga