I see it all again, the oaks, the glade,
the tiny house of white, the small pleasant fire. Here again is
the little table, and here is the evening meal. The table is
still spread for two. A double portion is served as was wont
before. Yet why? For all is not the same. At this table there is
but one form now. The younger man is there, although now he has
grown gray and stooped. Year unto year, day unto day, the beads
have slipped along the string. Once young, now old, he keeps the
camp alone!

[Illustration]

But is he then alone? Hush! The squirrels have grown still, and
even the oak is silent. What is that opposite, across the table,
at the seat long years held only by the elder of these two? Tell
me, Singing Mouse, is it not true that I see there, sitting as
of old at the table, the same sturdy form, the same simple,
innocent and believing face? It is the gray ghost of one grown
gray in goodness. It is the shadow of a shadow, the apparition
of a soul!

The one at the table pauses, as was the wont before the
beginning of a meal. He looks across the table to the shadow,
as if the shadow were his friend. The shadow bows its head. The
living man bows also his head at the board. The shadow moves its
lips. Doubt not those words are heard this day.

See, the sun rises through the trees. The glorious day sets on
once more. Doubt not, fear not, sorrow not, ye two. Bow the head
still, ye two, and let not my picture perish. Whisper again the
benediction of the years, and let me hear once more the murmur
of the oak's Amen!

[Illustration]

[Illustration: The Birth of the Hours]

[Illustration]

THE BIRTH OF THE HOURS

"Do you know the story of the Wedding of the Times?" said the
Singing Mouse. "You know, all life is a wedding. The flowers
love, and the grasses, and the trees; and the circle of the
wedding ring is the circle of life and the sign of eternity.
Death and life, not life and then death, is the order and the
law.

"The hours are born of parents, as are the flowers. The hours of
the day are born of the wedding of Night and Morning. It is the
way of Life. Come with me."

So with the Singing Mouse I went into a place where I was once
long before. I could see it very well. It was in the deep woods,
far away. Near by there were tall, sweet grasses. I could hear
the faint tinkle of a falling stream. Other than that, it was
silent in the deep woods. Overhead the sky was clear and filled
with stars