e his blond hair rubbed off at the
temples, and his face marked with maturity. Lycurgus Mason, a Woman
Tamer, must get used to wearing white shirts. Gabriel Carnine, a Money
Changer, must feel his importance; and Oscar Fernald, a Tavern Keeper,
must be hobbled by the years. All but the shades must be refurbished.
General Hendricks and Elmer, his son, must fade farther into the mists
of the past, while Henry Schnitzler settles comfortably down in
storied urn and animated bust.

There they hang together on the line, these basswood folk, and beside
them wave their womankind. These also must be repaired and refitted
throughout, as Oscar Fernald's letter-heads used to say of the Thayer
House. Jane Barclay, Wife of John, must have the "star light, star
bright" wiped out of her eyes. Mary Barclay, Mother of the Same, must
have her limbs trimmed gaunt, and her face chiselled strong and
indomitable. Jeanette Barclay, a Toddler, must grow into dresses.
Molly Culpepper, a Dear, must have her heart taken out, and her face
show the shock of the operation. Nellie Logan, a poet's Wife, must
join all the lodges in the Ridge to help her husband in politics.
Trixie Lee, little Beatrix Lee, daughter of J. Lord and Lady Lee, must
have her childish face scarred and her eyes glazed. Mrs. Hally Bemis,
a Prodigal, must be swathed in silk. Elizabeth Cady Stanton Ward and
all her sisters must be put in the simple garb of school-teachers.
Miss Hendricks, a Mouse, must hide in the dusky places; and Ellen
Culpepper, a Memory, must come to life.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, while we have been diverting you, Time
has been at work on the little people of the passing show, and now
before we draw back the curtain to let them caper across your hearts,
let us again thank you one and all for your courtesy in staying, and
hope that what you see and hear may make you wiser and kinder and
braver; for this is a moral entertainment, good people, planned to
show you that yesterday makes to-day and they both make to-morrow, and
so the world spins round the sun.

CHAPTER XVII

The rumble of the wheels in the great stone mill across the Sycamore
and the roar of the waters over the dam seem to have been in Jeanette
Barclay's ears from the day of her birth; for she was but a baby when
the stone mill rose where the little red mill had stood, and beside
the stone mill there had grown up the long stone factory wherein
Lycurgus Mason was a man of consequen