he
sea."

"And you think that I can go on?" he asked, doubtingly.

"I know you can go on," she answered with conviction.

"But, why are you so sure?"

"Perhaps," she returned, smiling, "seventy years makes one sure of some
things."

Ho exclaimed passionately: "But you do not know--you cannot know--how
my life, my dreams, my plans, my hopes, my--everything--has been broken
into bits!"

She answered calmly, pointing to Elbow Rock: "Look there, Brian. See
how the river is broken into bits. See how its smoothly flowing, onward
sweep is suddenly changed to wild, chaotic turmoil; how it rages and
fumes and frets and smashes itself against the rocks. But it goes on
just the same. Life cannot be always calm and smoothly flowing like the
peaceful Bend. But life can always go on. Life must always go on. And
you will find, my dear boy, that a little way below Elbow Rock there is
another quiet stretch."

When he spoke again there was a note of almost reverence in his voice.

"Auntie Sue, was there ever a break in your life? Were your dreams and
plans ever smashed into bits?"

For a little, she did not answer; then she said, bravely: "Yes, Brian;
several times. Once,--years and years ago,--I do not know how I managed
to go on. I felt, then, as you feel now; but, somehow, I managed, and
so found the calm places. The last hard spot came quite recently."
She paused, wondering what he would do if she were to tell him how he
himself had made the hard spot. "But, now," she continued, "I am hoping
that the rest of the way will be calm and untroubled."

"I wish I could help to make it so!" he cried impulsively.

"Why, you can," she returned quickly. "Of course you can. Perhaps that
is why the current landed your boat at my garden, instead of carrying
you on down the rapids to Elbow Rock. Who can say?"

A new light kindled in the man's eyes as his sensitive nature took fire
at Auntie Sue's words. "I could do anything for a woman like you, Auntie
Sue," he said quietly, but with a conviction that left no room for
doubt. "But you must tell me what I am to do."

She answered: "You are simply to go on with your life--just as if no
Elbow Rock had ever disturbed you; just as the river goes on--to the
end."

She left him, then, to think out his problem alone; for the teacher of
so many years' experience was too wise not to know when a lesson was
finished.

But when the end of the day was come, they again sat together on the
porc