ut sweet, oh, wondrously sweet to listen to. Listen to
this, Arthur--it's all yours--Martha's just as true and pure and
sweet as all this--and she loves you, man alive, think of that.
Sorrow and evil days and death itself will never change Martha--she's
a solid rock for you to build your soul's happiness on. Dream on now,
Arthur, as millions have dreamed before you; let your dreams keep
pace with this--it will carry you on its strong tide--it will land
you safe on the rainbow shore. It carries me even, and I am old and
full of evil days. What must it be to you, Arthur, for you are young
and can easily believe, and the girl who loves you is right beside
you. Take the thought--it's bright with promise--it's full of love
and comfort and home for you."

The schoolmaster stole away to his room upstairs and took a faded
photograph from an old portfolio and kissed it tenderly.

* * *

Behind the lace curtains the full moon, with a golden mist around her
face, shone softly into the dimly-lighted room, and still the old man
played on, the deathless songs of youth and love--the sweet,
changeless melodies which have come down the ages to remind us of the
love that still lives, glorious and triumphant, though the hearts
that loved are dust.

CHAPTER XXXI

MRS. CAVERS'S NEIGHBOURS

O! the world's a curious compound,
With its honey and its gall,
With its cares and bitter crosses--
But a good world after all.

_----James Whitcomb Riley._

THE people of the neighbourhood were disposed to wonder why Mrs.
Cavers lived on in the old tumble-down Steadman house after her
husband's death. "Why doesn't she go home to her own people?" they
asked each other--not in any unkindly, spirit, but because they
naturally expected that she would do this. Libby Anne had told the
children at school so much about her mother's lovely home in Ontario,
where her Grandmother and Aunt Edith still lived, that the people of
the neighbourhood had associated with it the idea of wealth.
Unfortunately, they were wrong about this. Mrs. Cavers's mother and
sister lived in a pretty white cottage, just outside one of Ontario's
large cities. Roses ran over the porch, and morning-glory vines shut
in the small verandah. It was a home of refinement and good taste,
but not of wealth or even competence. Mrs. Cavers's only sister,
Edith, and the sweet-faced mother lived there in peace and
contentment, but every dollar of Edith's small salary a