e a mask over the
heavy features and the light of life was gone. But to the girl the room
was again illuminated with the golden radiance of her dream. Again the
trumpets blared, the drums beat. She heard the requiem of the despised.
From across the deep spaces of the universe voices sang to her of the
poor in spirit. The great majestic syllables throbbed through the little
cabin, carrying their triumph to her listening heart.

CHAPTER XXXVI

It was twilight, and Ellen was sitting on the porch for a little space
to rest and think. Since her mother's death, three days before, there
had been no opportunity for rest or for thinking. The neighbors, kindly
but garrulous, had been at the cabin at all hours. Their enthusiasm for
ceremonial, their effusive religious expression, had made the past three
days wearying and difficult. But the last rites had been performed and
the house among the pines was at length peaceful and still. As she idly
watched the long shadows cast by the setting sun she felt her mother
nearer to her than when, with Aunt Lucindy mourning, she lay panoplied
in death upon the bed.

Tom joined her and took his seat on the step below. "How do you feel?"
he asked affectionately.

"All right," Ellen answered, "and you?"

"I'm all right now."

They had spoken in low tones and Tom asked in a whisper, "She's asleep?"

"Yes, she was so worn she's slept the whole day through, like a baby."

"I 'most wish she was a baby again," Tom ventured. "We-all had good
times when we was children."

The virtuous retort regarding a life of service that Ellen would have
given a year ago died upon her lips. During the months of their
separation she saw that Tom had grown fast in stature and understanding.

"Seems sometimes," he went on in his meditative way, "as if the world'd
be better if no one was allowed to grow up. But there's some as can't
help it. You couldn't keep them little children, not if you put a
hundred pound weight on their heads."

There was a sound from the room within. "I'm coming out soon," a voice
said, "and I'm hungry enough to eat two meals in one."

When to the satisfaction of both she had accomplished this feat, the
three went to the porch again and sat together in the starlight.

Thus far they had exchanged no word as to their future; there had been
no opportunity for the privacy of confidence. Now it was possible to
talk into the night without interruption. But the quiet about them,