NE more scene from that last year, and I am done with it. There is much comes crowding out of my memory, but only one thing which I could wish were now a part of the record. Yet I have withheld it, and well might keep it to myself, for need of better words than any which have come to me in all my life.

Christmas! And we were back in the old home again. We had brought the children with us. Somehow they seemed to know our needs and perils. They rallied to our defence, marching

up and down with fife and drum, and waving banners, and shouts of victory—a battalion as brave as any in the great army of happiness. They saved the day which else had been overrun with thoughts and fears from the camp of the enemy. Well, we had a cheerful time of it, and not an eye closed until after the stroke of ten that night.

Slowly, silence fell in the little house. Below-stairs the lights were out, and Hope and I were sitting alone before the fire. We were talking of old times in the dim firelight. Soon there came a gentle rap at our door. It was Uncle Eb with a candle in his hand.

“I jes' thought I'd come in an' talk a leetle conversation,” said he, and sat down, laughing with good humor.

“'Member the ol' hair trunk?” he asked, and when I assured him that we

could not ever forget it, he put his hand over his face and shook with silent and almost sorrowful laughter.

“I 'member years ago, you use' to think my watch was a gran' thing, an' when ye left hum ye wanted t' take it with ye, but we didn't think it was best then.”

“Yes, I remember that.”

“I don't s'pose”—he hesitated as a little embarrassed—“you've got so. many splendid things now, I—I don't s'pose—”

“Oh, Uncle Eb, I'd prize it above all things,” I assured him.

“Would ye? Here 't is,” said he, with a smile, as he took it out of his pocket and put it in my hand. “It's been a gran' good watch.”

“But you—you'll need it.”

“No,” he answered. “The clock

'll do fer me—I'm goin' to move soon.”

“Move!” we both exclaimed. “Goin' out in the fields to work ag'in,” he added, cheerfully.

After a glance at our faces, he added: “I ain't afraid. It's all goin' t' be fair an' square. If we couldn't meet them we loved, an' do fer 'em, it wouldn't be honest. We'd all feel as if we'd been kind o' cheated. Suthin' has always said to me: 'Eb Holden, when ye git through here yer goin' t' meet them ye love.' Who do ye s'pose it was that spoke t' me? I couldn't tell ye, but somebody said it, an' whoever 'tis He says the same thing to most ev'ry one in the world.”

“It was the voice of Nature,” I suggested.

“Call it God er Natur' er what ye

please—fact is it's built into us an' is a part of us jest as the beams are a part o' this house. I don't b'lieve it was put there fer nuthin. An' it wa'n'. put there t' make fools of us nuther. I tell ye, Bill, this givin' life fer death ain't no hoss-trade. If ye give good value, ye're goin' to git good value, an' what folks hev been led to hope an' pray fer since Love come into the world, they're goin' to have—sure.”

He went to Hope and put a tiny locket in her hand. Beneath its panel lay a ringlet of hair, golden-brown.

“It was give to me,” he said, as he stood looking down at her. “Them little threads o' gold is kind o' wove all into my life. Sixty year ago I begun to spin my hope with 'em. It's grow-in' stronger an' stronger. It ain't

possible that Natur' has been a foolin' me all this time.”

After a little silence, he said to Hope: “I want you to have it.”

Her pleasure delighted him, and his face glowed with tender feeling.

Slowly he left us. The candle trembled in his hand, and flickering shadows fell upon us. He stopped in the open door. We knew well what thought was in his mind as he whispered back to us:

“Merry Chris'mas—ev'ry year.” Soon I went to his room. The door was open. He had drawn off his boots and was sitting on the side of his bed. I did not enter or speak to him, as I had planned to do; for I saw him leaning forward on his elbows and wiping his eyes, and I heard him saying to himself:

“Eb Holden, you oughter be 'shamed, I declare. Merry Chris'mas! I tell ye. Hold up yer head.”

I returned to Hope, and we sat long looking into the firelight. Youth and its grace and color were gone from us, yet I saw in her that beauty “which maketh the face to shine.”

Our love lay as a road before and behind us. Long ago it had left the enchanted gardens and had led us far, and was now entering the City of Faith and we could see its splendor against the cloud of mystery beyond. Our souls sought each other in the silence and were filled with awe as they looked ahead of them and, at last, I understood the love of a man for a woman.

THE END