not
make the world, and we cannot rule the world. When I see grown-up folk
trying to arrange for other people, I always think of children playing
at snap-dragon. One gets one's fingers burnt so badly when we try to
pull out our neighbour's plum. No, no; bearing other people's burdens
never meant that."

CHAPTER XVIII.

AUNT MADGE GIVES HER OPINION.

"Death is a black camel that kneels at the gate of
all."--_Abd-el-Kader_.

After all, the dreaded influenza epidemic did not make its appearance,
and, though people still talked learnedly of germs and microbes, and
put meddling fingers into the medical pie, it was decided by the
legitimate authorities that the mischief had blown over for the present.

It is a curious fact that there is a fashion even in talk. A subject
is discussed until it is worn thread-bare. When the germ theory was
exhausted the bicycle craze took its place. Perhaps future students of
hieroglyphics may yet discover in some palimpsest that in old days the
Egyptian maidens had quaint iron machines that carried them swiftly
through the desert.

In the early March days, when the winds were keen and blusterous, Mr.
Williams died; his end was very sudden.

Greta had just retired to her room for the night when the nurse noticed
a change in him and hastily summoned her. A messenger was sent for Dr.
Luttrell, but before he could reach the house Mr. Williams was dead.

He could have done nothing if he had been there. That was the sole
comfort Marcus could give to the stricken daughter, and she knew that
he spoke the truth.

The bow of the king of terrors is never drawn at a venture. The arrow
goes deep and true, but to Greta and Olivia he was only the angel of
sorrow, who did his master's bidding. Alwyn in after years worked out
this idea in a noble picture called the "House of Mourning."

The little one, evidently the sole child and heir of a goodly heritage,
lay panting out his feeble life on the pillow. The broken-hearted
parents bent over him hand in hand. The filmy look of unshed tears in
the mother's eyes was wonderfully rendered. On the threshold stood a
kingly presence, in dark trailing robes of majesty and a starry crown
on his head. The face, solemn and beautiful, wore an expression of
infinite pity; the arms were stretched out to the child with a gesture
of tenderness.

Underneath was written those striking words: "Is it well with the
child?" and the answer, "It is