But here and there some few got
acquainted and overlooked the discomforts of the elements. There
was five engagements to be married announced at the flats the next
morning.

"About midnight I gets up and wrings the dew out of my hair, and goes
to the side of the driveway and sits down. At one side of the park I
could see the lights in the streets and houses; and I was thinking
how happy them folks was who could chase the duck and smoke their
pipes at their windows, and keep cool and pleasant like nature
intended for 'em to.

"Just then an automobile stops by me, and a fine-looking,
well-dressed man steps out.

"'Me man,' says he, 'can you tell me why all these people are lying
around on the grass in the park? I thought it was against the rules.'

"''Twas an ordinance,' says I, 'just passed by the Polis Department
and ratified by the Turf Cutters' Association, providing that all
persons not carrying a license number on their rear axles shall keep
in the public parks until further notice. Fortunately, the orders
comes this year during a spell of fine weather, and the mortality,
except on the borders of the lake and along the automobile drives,
will not be any greater than usual.'

"'Who are these people on the side of the hill?' asks the man.

"'Sure,' says I, 'none others than the tenants of the Beersheba
Flats--a fine home for any man, especially on hot nights. May
daylight come soon!'

"'They come here be night,' says he, 'and breathe in the pure air
and the fragrance of the flowers and trees. They do that,' says he,
'coming every night from the burning heat of dwellings of brick and
stone.'

"'And wood,' says I. 'And marble and plaster and iron.'

"'The matter will be attended to at once,' says the man, putting up
his book.

"'Are ye the Park Commissioner?' I asks.

"'I own the Beersheba Flats,' says he. 'God bless the grass and the
trees that give extra benefits to a man's tenants. The rents shall be
raised fifteen per cent. to-morrow. Good-night,' says he."

XVII

THE EASTER OF THE SOUL

It is hardly likely that a goddess may die. Then Eastre, the old
Saxon goddess of spring, must be laughing in her muslin sleeve at
people who believe that Easter, her namesake, exists only along
certain strips of Fifth Avenue pavement after church service.

Aye! It belongs to the world. The ptarmigan in Chilkoot Pass discards
his winter white feathers for brown; the Patagonian Beau Brummell
oils his chi