the silent observer.
Against the window they caught the dominant nose, the clean cut,
powerful chin, the aggressive contour of head and shoulders. Clark was
leaning forward, his gaze exploring the well remembered scene.

"Don't disturb him," whispered Elsie again.

Her husband pressed her hand, and they waited, wondering what thoughts
were passing through that marvelous brain. He was staring at the
works. It was all his--this dream come true; this vision portrayed in
steel and stone. Out of nothing but water and wood and his own superb
faith he had created it, only to see this exemplification of himself
slip from his own hands into those of others, who had sponsored neither
its birth nor its magnificent development. What portion of his leader,
pondered the engineer, had been incorporated in those vast
foundations--and what had life left in store to replace them for him?

The train was moving on, when Clark, turning suddenly, smiled and held
out his hand.

"Glad to see you both, if only for a minute. I'm on my way back to
Russia, where I'm carrying out large improvements for the
government--been there for the last year. By the way, Belding, did you
notice that old, crooked birch beside the rapids? A big, fat
kingfisher used to live there--we knew each other well."

CONCLUSION

The sumac leaves, which through the summer months tapped delicately at
my study window, have turned a vivid scarlet, and one by one have
fluttered to the ground. Here, by the mysterious process of nature,
they will be incorporated with the rich soil, to nourish some other
life that will later climb sunward. But in that life no one shall
recognize a sumac leaf.

So it seems are the efforts of men. A few years of growth and
aspiration--then the fiery bourgeoning to a climax, and, after that,
incorporation in the soil of a forgetfulness that seems indifferent
alike to their exertions and their ambitions. But the end is not here.
Somewhere, and most certainly in some other form, the effort achieves
immortality and reasserts itself, indestructible and eternal. For such
are the myriad filaments of existence, and so indissolubly are men
linked with each other by invisible chains, that it is but seldom that
impulse can be traced back to its birth, or courage to its starting
point.

Who then shall determine what is success and what is failure? Does the
grandeur of the reward establish the value of the service, or is it not
tru