his face suddenly grave, looked over the happy, dancing figures
in their fantastic dresses. Although he did not know why, he wished at
that moment that the children playing in the old attic need never grow
up, but might always be carefree and laughing in their idle games. His
eyes lingered longest on Rebecca, such a dainty little princess in her
yellow silk and pearls and he sighted a little. But all he said was:
"If I were you youngsters, I'd play in the garden. The rain's all over
and there's a fine rainbow just behind the old chestnut tree."

* * * * *

Washington Irving sat crouched in one of the great arm chairs of the
drawing room in Mr. Gratz's house in Philadelphia. His elbow on his
knee, he sat with his hand shading his face, his eyes seeking the
floor. When Rebecca Gratz entered the room, he seemed about to rise,
but with a gesture she urged him to remain seated and took a chair
beside him. For a long time they sat there in silence, Rebecca's hands
twisting a small package that lay in her lap, her face pale and tired,
her dark eyes filled with tears.

Sitting there with the soft candle light falling upon her simple blue
dress and white arms, she made a picture which young Irving would have
appreciated at any other moment. The slim little princess of the
nursery had grown into a graceful young girl of gracious, yet
dignified bearing, her abundant hair brushed simply back from her
forehead, the gravity of her sweet face increased by the earnestness
that never left her large dark eyes, even when she smiled. For even
in her gayest moments there was always a hint of gentle gravity about
Rebecca Gratz; tonight, when utterly exhausted from watching at the
deathbed of her childhood friend, Matilda Hoffman, she looked like a
beautiful graven image of Sorrow.

At last Rebecca spoke, her low voice tremulous with tears: "The end
was very easy--God was good to her at the last. And I do not think she
suffered much lately. Matilda just seemed to fade away, not like one
ill, but very tired. She often spoke of you when we were together;
that is why I asked brother Hyman to send for you. I thought you would
like to hear it all from me."

The young man in the arm chair shifted a little. "Yes, I would like to
hear everything from you," he answered, not trusting himself to meet
her eyes.

Simply, tenderly, Rebecca told young Irving of the last illness of the
young girl whom he had hoped to ma