a man 'trying to stand still on a bicycle? That's no harder than
what you're tryin' to do. You've stopped doin' wrong, but you haven't
gone on, and you're in great shape to take a bad fall. If you'd
just get busy helpin' people you'd soon get over bein' sad and
down-hearted. You're feelin' bad over Bill Cavers's death. Why don't
you make Bill's death count for something good? You're a smart man,
and everybody likes you. If you was to teach a Bible class every one
would come to hear you."

"I'll bet they would," he said, shrugging his shoulders and laughing
almost bitterly.

"Well, then," said Pearl, "don't let the chances all go by you. Do
you know, I often look at trees and feel sorry for them?"

"Why?" he asked curiously.

"Because they can't do a thing to help each other; and I often wonder
if they're the people who wouldn't lift a finger to help any one when
they were livin', and so they were turned into trees when they died,
and now they see grubs and worms crawlin' over their own folks,
maybe, and they can't lift a leaf to help them. Mr. Donald read us a
story in school about a man who was awful mean while he lived and
wouldn't help anybody, and when he died he had to wander up and down
the world and see people starvin' and all sorts of sad sights, but he
couldn't do a single thing for them, though he wanted to bad enough,
because he had forged a chain that bound him hand and foot while he
was livin', all unbeknownst to himself. Did you ever read that little
book, Mr. Braden?"

"I did," he said. "I read that story, but I had almost forgotten it.
I haven't thought of it for years."

"It's a good story," said Pearl meaningly.

"I guess it is," he answered, smiling.

When they reached the Watson home, Mrs. Watson and Aunt Kate came out
and thanked Mr. Braden profusely for his kindness in "givin' the
childer a lift." Danny, who had been bored by the serious nature of
the conversation, had gone to sleep, and was carried snoring into the
house.

Mr. Braden admired the display of poppies and asters, which still
made a brave show of colour against the almost leafless trees of the
bluff, and when Pearl ran over to pick him a bouquet of asters, was
it by accident--or does anything ever happen by accident--that she
put in some leaves of sweet-mary?

CHAPTER XXIV

TRUE GREATNESS

A shipwrecked sailor, waiting for a sail;
No sail from day to day, but every day
The sunrise broken into scarlet sh