ew Year's Eve. Job sat by the old stone fireplace. The
household had gone to rest. The clock was ticking away the moments of
the dying year. Outside, the world was still and white. With head in
his hands, Job waited for the year to end.

He was ten years older than when it had begun. He was still a boy then
in heart and years; now he was well on in manhood. Yosemite, Glacier
Point, Gethsemane, Calvary, Jane Reed's grave, were in that year. He
longed to hear its death-knell. Yet that year--how much it had meant
to his soul! The sanctifying influence of sorrow had softened and
purified his life. The abiding Christ was with him; he lived, and yet
not he--it was Christ living in him.

He knelt and thanked Him for it all--heights of glory, depths of
tribulation; thanked Him for whatsoever Infinite Love had given in the
days of that dark, dark year now ending. The clock gave a warning
tick--it was going; a moment, and it would be gone forever. Into his
heart came a great purpose--the purpose to leave the past with the
past, and in the new year go out to a new life--a life of love for all
the world, of service for all hearts. Over his soul came a great joy.

The clock struck twelve. Somebody down the hill fired a gun, the dogs
barked a welcome--the new year had come. The school-house bell was
ringing, and to Job it seemed to say:

"Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring in the Christ that is to be."

The young man rose from his knees. He went and opened the door. The
white world flooded with silvery light lay before him. The past was
gone. He stood with his face to the future, to the years unscarred
and waiting. Into them he would go to live for others. He closed the
doors, brushed back the embers, and crept softly up to his room,
singing in a low voice the first song for many months:

"Oh, the good we all may do,
While the days are going by."

All day the drums had been beating. All day the tramp of martial feet
had been heard along the Gold City streets. The soldiers from Camp
Sheridan had marched in line with the local militia, and a few
trembling veterans who knew more of real war than either. "Old Glory"
on the court house had been at half-mast, the children had scattered
flowers on a few flag-marked graves, while faltering voices of age
read the Grand Army Ritual. The public exercises in the town square
were over.

The sun had set on Decoration Day when Job rode Bess up once more to
the old gr