at
its approach and spread out fan-like from the other end. As I stood and
looked, the trails around faded out, except the one down which I had
come and another. A short way above the bridge a stream like the one I
had followed flowed into the river and along its bank was a path much
like the one I had followed. As I looked a young woman came round the
turn and saw the river and the bridge and that I stood waiting at its
approach. She hesitated for a moment and then came slowly on. When she
drew near I saw it was you and, going up, took your hand and together,
hand in hand, we crossed the bridge. Looking ahead, I saw that the many
trails at the farther end had disappeared except the small one up the
mountainside; this we took.

"The trail gradually broadened into a bright, smooth way and the ascent,
though unbroken, was not difficult. All the time I held you by the hand.
One day your step grew slower and, looking for the cause, I noticed
that, though I still held your left hand, a small boy walked on the
right and held the other. I felt some small, warm thing take hold of my
left hand with a tender, warm pressure and, looking down to see the
cause, saw it was another Dorothy, a miniature of your own sweet self;
and would have taken her up on my arm, but you, wiser than I in such
things, said: 'She must walk the trail--all you can do is to go more
slowly and lead her by the hand.' After a time I noticed that these two
found no trouble in keeping up with us and, before we reached the top,
they occasionally restrained themselves to keep pace with us. When at
the top, the boy, unknowingly, let go your hand. He followed a trail to
the right along the comb of the ridge, which you and I could not follow,
though we tried. The girl with a cry of joy released my hand and took
that of a young man who seemed waiting for her, and they journeyed on to
the left. I, taking both your hands in mine because our idle hands
seemed lonely, looked into your face, as I had not done since first we
met by the river. Your face had grown more thoughtful and more calm,
more patient and more kind; the lovelight in your eyes spoke of the
soul. Your hair, though white, was more beautiful than when pure gold. I
knew your unspoken thoughts; and, with the lingering kiss of yesterday
and a smile for the morrow, we turned our faces and journeyed downward
into the vale of years. Dorothy, shall we make the dream come true or
must I go back to the bridge and