past deciphering, yet never quite gone. The
red letters were indelible on every piece, from the gross of antique
candle-moulds (against the kerosene's giving out) to an ancient
coffin-plate, far oxidized, and engraved "Jones," which, the old man
said, as he pried it off the side of the barn, "might come in handy any
day."

The old man has since died and been laid to rest. Upon his coffin was
set a new silver plate, engraved simply and truthfully, "Brown."

We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain, says Holy Writ,
that we can carry nothing out. But it is also certain that we shall
attempt to carry out, or try to find as soon as we are out, a
Dustless-Duster. For we did bring something with us into this world,
losing it temporarily, to be forever losing and finding it; and when we
go into another world, will it not be to carry the thing with us there,
or to continue there our eternal search for it? We are not so certain
of carrying nothing out of this world, but we are certain of leaving
many things behind.

Among those that I shall leave behind me is The Perfect Automatic
Carpet-Layer. But I did not buy that. She did. It was one of the
first of our perfections.

We have more now. I knew as I entered the house that night that
something had happened; that the hope of the early dawn had died, for
some cause, with the dusk. The trouble showed in her eyes: mingled
doubt, chagrin, self-accusation, self-defense, defeat--familiar
symptoms. She had seen something, something perfect, and had bought it.

I knew the look well, and the feelings all too well, and said nothing.
For suppose I had been at home that day and she had been in town?
Still, on my trip into town that morning I ran the risk of meeting the
man who sold me "The Magic Stropless Razor Salve." No, not that man!
I shall never meet him again, for vengeance is mine, saith the _Lord_.
But suppose I had met him? And suppose he had had some other salve,
_Safety_ Razor Salve this time to sell?

It is for young men to see visions and for old men to dream dreams; but
it is for no man or woman to buy one.

She had seen a vision, and had bought it--"The Perfect Automatic
Carpet-Layer."

I kept silence, as I say, which is often a thoughtful thing to do.

"Are you ill?" she ventured, handing me my tea.

"No."

"Tired?"

"No."

"I hope you are not very tired, for the Parsonage Committee brought the
new carpet this afternoon, and I have