give to
each of them one of my choicest gifts: something they will still keep
hugged to their hearts when they are as close to the gates as you or I."

"And how close is that?" asked the mother, growing whiter.

The wise old midwife turned from the bedside and bent above the
infants, mumbling to herself.

Presently the mother started up from a doze. There was no one in the
room but her married sister. "I dreamed Death was in the room with me
just now," said she. "And he had an old woman with him whom he called
his Sister. She seemed to me to be giving my babies something: but what
it was I don't know. At first I thought it was a plaything; but now I
think it was a sorrow. At least. . . ."

"_Dear!_ DEAR!" cried her sister, in alarm, as if she saw the spirit
drifting beyond her ken.

"My babies!" whispered the mother.

And presently she was "at rest."

* * * * *

Rick and Dick grew up somehow. Though motherless and fatherless they
were not quite friendless, and in the struggle for existence they held
their own and kept alive.

A more agreeable and cheerful fellow than Dick it would have been
impossible to find, according to his companions. He seemed dowered with
a disposition so equable and contented that it was a pleasure to be with
him: and he radiated cheerfulness like a fire. Moreover, he was in
thorough harmony with his surroundings. He found fault with nothing in
the structure of society, and desired no change either in laws or
institutions: everything was ordered wisely, and was ordered for the
best. In fact, he was the spirit of Content personified: and much
patting on the back did he get for his reward.

"We must give him a helping hand, must push him forward, you know," said
the Community, beaming on its cheerful young champion.

And Dick took the "pushing forward" with admirable self-composure, and
certainly seemed to deserve all he got.

As for Rick, the Community would have nothing to do with him. He was not
quite an out-and-out pessimist, it was true; but he seemed to look on
the Community as a most clumsily-articulated creature--a thing of shreds
and patches, and the Cheap Jack of shams. He was always putting his
finger on this spot or that; hinting that here there was a weakness, and
there . . . something worse. Every advanced thinker, and the majority of
theorists, could count on finding a sympathetic listener in him: and not
infrequently they found in him a