what
surely comes. But to me, looking back, it's plain. And this is the
reason why I want you to make me a promise, and as solemn as if I was on
my death-bed. Maybe I shall be, soon."

Tears gathered in the eyes of the twins. "What is it, father?" they both
said.

"Nothing at all to any other two boys, but I don't know how YOU'll take
it. What if I was to ask you to live apart for a while?"

"Oh father!" both cried. They leaned together, cheek pressing cheek, and
hand clasping hand, growing white and trembling. John Vincent, gazing
into the fire, did not see their faces, or his purpose might have been
shaken.

"I don't say NOW," he went on. "After a while, when--well, when I'm
dead. And I only mean a beginning, to help you toward what HAS to be.
Only a month; I don't want to seem hard to you; but that's little, in
all conscience. Give me your word: say, 'For mother's sake!'"

There was a long pause. Then David and Jonathan said, in low, faltering
voices, "For mother's sake, I promise."

"Remember that you were only boys to her. She might have made all this
seem easier, for women have reasons for things no man can answer. Mind,
within a year after I'm gone!"

He rose and tottered out of the room.

The twins looked at each other: David said, "Must we?" and Jonathan,
"How can we?" Then they both thought, "It may be a long while yet." Here
was a present comfort, and each seemed to hold it firmly in holding the
hand of the other, as they fell asleep side by side.

The trial was nearer than they imagined. Their father died before the
winter was over; the farm and other property was theirs, and they might
have allowed life to solve its mysteries as it rolled onwards, but for
their promise to the dead. This must be fulfilled, and then--one thing
was certain; they would never again separate.

"The sooner the better," said David. "It shall be the visit to our uncle
and cousins in Indiana. You will come with me as far as Harrisburg;
it may be easier to part there than here. And our new neighbors, the
Bradleys, will want your help for a day or two, after getting home."

"It is less than death," Jonathan answered, "and why should it seem to
be more? We must think of father and mother, and all those twelve years;
now I know what the burden was."

"And we have never really borne any part of it! Father must have been
right in forcing us to promise."

Every day the discussion was resumed, and always with the same
termi