er. As I sit here this morning
that you are going away at last I look back and I cannot rember any
summer in my whole life which has been like this summer, because a great
change has come over me this summer. If you would like to know what this
means it was something like I said when John Watson got there yesterday
afternoon and interrupted what I said. May you enjoy this candy and think
of the giver. I will put something in with this letter. It is something
maybe you would like to have and in exchange I would give all I possess
for one of you if you would send it to me when you get home. Please do
this for now my heart is braking. Yours sincerely, WILLIAM S. BAXTER
(ALIAS) LITTLE BOY BAXTER.

William opened the box of candy and placed the letter upon the top layer
of chocolates. Upon the letter he placed a small photograph (wrapped in
tissue-paper) of himself. Then, with a pair of scissors, he trimmed
an oblong of white cardboard to fit into the box. Upon this piece of
cardboard he laboriously wrote, copying from a tortured, inky sheet
before him:

IN DREAM
BY WILLIAM S. BAXTER

The sunset light
Fades into night
But never will I forget
The smile that haunts me yet
Through the future four long years
I hope you will remember with tears
Whate'er my rank or station
Whilst receiving my education
Though far away you seem
I will see thee in dream.

He placed his poem between the photograph and the letter, closed the
box, and tied the tissue-paper about it again with the blue ribbon.
Throughout these rites (they were rites both in spirit and in manner) he
was subject to little catchings of the breath, half gulp, half sigh. But
the dolorous tokens passed, and he sat with elbows upon the table,
his chin upon his hands, reverie in his eyes. Tragedy had given way to
gentler pathos;--beyond question, something had measurably soothed him.
Possibly, even in this hour preceding the hour of parting, he knew a
little of that proud amazement which any poet is entitled to feel over
each new lyric miracle just wrought.

Perhaps he was helped, too, by wondering what Miss Pratt would think of
him when she read "In Dream," on the train that afternoon. For reasons
purely intuitive, and decidedly without foundation in fact, he was
satisfied that no rival farewell poem would be offered her, and so it
may be that he thought "In Dream" might show her at last, in one blaze
of