hill where a panting third
horse had been necessary, cable cars resounded in Burton Street, between
the new factory and the church where Dr. Gilman still preached of peace
and the delights of the New-Jerusalem. And before you could draw your
breath, the cable cars had become electric. Gray hairs began to appear
in the heads of the people Dr. Gilman had married in the '60's and their
children were going East to College.

II

In the first decade of the twentieth century, Asa, Waring still clung to
the imposing, early Victorian mansion in Hamilton Street. It presented
an uncompromising and rather scornful front to the sister mansions with
which it had hitherto been on intimate terms, now fast degenerating into
a shabby gentility, seeking covertly to catch the eye of boarders, but as
yet refraining from open solicitation. Their lawns were growing a little
ragged, their stone steps and copings revealing cracks.

Asa Waring looked with a stern distaste upon certain aspects of modern
life. And though he possessed the means to follow his friends and
erstwhile neighbours into the newer paradise five miles westward, he had
successfully resisted for several years a formidable campaign to uproot
him. His three married daughters lived in that clean and verdant
district surrounding the Park (spelled with a capital), while Evelyn and
Rex spent most of their time in the West End or at the Country Clubs.
Even Mrs. Waring, who resembled a Roman matron, with her wavy white hair
parted in the middle and her gentle yet classic features, sighed secretly
at times at the unyielding attitude of her husband, although admiring him
for it. The grandchildren drew her.

On the occasion of Sunday dinner, when they surrounded her, her heart was
filled to overflowing.

The autumn sunlight, reddened somewhat by the slight haze of smoke,
poured in at the high windows of the dining-room, glinted on the silver,
and was split into bewildering colors by the prisms of the chandelier.
Many precious extra leaves were inserted under the white cloth, and Mrs.
Waring's eyes were often dimmed with happiness as she glanced along the
ranks on either side until they rested on the man with whom she had
chosen to pass her life. Her admiration for him had gradually grown into
hero-worship. His anger, sometimes roused, had a terrible moral quality
that never failed to thrill her, and the Loyal Legion button on his black
frock coat seemed to her an epitome of his