ontribution, "you promised me that you
wouldn't talk that way any more."

"I forgot this time," he replied.

"Mr. Lyman," said Eva, "I want to thank you again for the book. I have
read it twice, and I hope you won't think I gush when I say it is
charming. One idea was uppermost in my mind as I read it--that I had
never before heard the beating of so many hearts; and the atmosphere
is so sweet that, more than once, I fancied that the paper must have
been scented."

"Oh, come now," Lyman cried, "you are guying me."

"It does sound like it, I admit, but really I am not. And I don't
bring you my opinion alone. Last night I induced father to read a
chapter. He read chapter after chapter, and when I asked him what he
thought, he simply said, 'Beautiful.' Wasn't that a conquest?"

"It was a great kindness."

"But why should you be surprised? Haven't you worked year after year
and now should a just reward come as an astonishment?"

"It's all luck," said the consumptive, looking at his thin hands
lying on the counterpane. "If a man has luck early in life, he's
likely to pay for it later; and if he has bad luck till along toward
middle life, the chances are that he will pick up. I had my luck
early; I sang my song and finished it." His wife looked at him
beseechingly. "I'm not complaining," he added. "It's no more than
just. You and the young lady were speaking about a book, Mr. Lyman.
How long did it take you to write it?"

"It seems now that I had to live it," Lyman answered. "The actual work
did not take long, but the dreams, the night-mares, were continued
year after year. To be condemned to write a conscientious book is a
severe trial, almost a cruel punishment, and I am not surprised that
the critics, sentenced to read it, should look upon it as an
additional pain thrust into their lives."

The talk wandered into the discussion of books in general. The young
woman told of the great libraries she had visited abroad. The printer
had helped to set up a Bible and he gave an amusing account of the
mistakes that had crept into the proof-sheets. A careless fellow had
made one of the Prophets stricken with grip instead of grief, and
another one had the type declare that Moses lifted up the sea
serpent in the wilderness. The bar of sunlight passed beyond the
window ledge and the sick man fell into silence. Eva rose to go. Lyman
said that he would walk a part of the way with her. She smiled but
said nothing. They bade the