a lily of the valley, and Nature had laid her leveling touch on
each grassy mound and changed the place outwardly to a garden of
flowers. But neither spring's white glory of lilies and azure of myrtle,
the rich foliage of summer, the crimson splendor of autumn, nor winter's
deepest snow could hide from the passer-by the secret of the place.
Young lovers like Matty and Percival might go by with laughter and
smiles unchecked; not yet for them the thought of death. But John
touched the horse to a quicker pace and looked to the other side of the
road where sunny fields of grain spoke of life more abundantly, and Mary
drew closer to John's side, saying in her heart: "I wish there was no
death in this world."

In the middle of the bridge they paused for a moment to look up and down
the shining river, and John recalled the tale, still told by the oldest
inhabitants, of the spring of '65, when the river rose forty-five feet
in nine hours and washed the bridge away. Beyond the bridge the road
turned to the right, following the stream in a friendly way, and
terminating at a fording place opposite a large sand bar known as "The
Island." A giant sycamore in the middle cast a welcome shadow in the
brilliant sunshine, and a fringe of willows encircled it. Under these,
near the water's edge, lay heaps of mussel shells,--white, pink, yellow,
and purple,--the gift of the river to the land, and a reminder of the
April freshet. The carriage wheels grated on the sand-bar, and as they
caught sight of the treasures the children gave a cry of delight, for no
shells from a tropic ocean are more beautiful in color than the common
mussel shells of Kentucky rivers, and not infrequently a pearl is found
within the tinted casket.

"Now, gather all the shells you want," said John, "while your mother and
me sit down here and rest in the shade."

Again he made a bed of the cushions from the carriage, and closing her
eyes Mary fell into blissful half-consciousness. The minister had read
David's psalm of rejoicing at the morning service, and one line of it,
"He leadeth me beside the still waters; He restoreth my soul," floated
through her brain like a slumber song, with an obbligato of rippling
water and the faint whispering of willows. Once she drifted to the very
shores of sleep, to be gently called back by the laughter of the
children; and when they turned homeward in the late afternoon, she felt
strong for the next day's burden, only she hoped tha