nurse and his own, and David, the gardener, with his
little daughter Daphne.

Nancy, old, with hard rosy cheeks, was still so real. She worked and
sang, loved and sometimes resented on behalf of those whom she served.
Often, when quite a little boy, Graham would seek her in the old nursery
of the city home and climb into her lap, rest his curly head against her
loving breast, and sometimes contentedly fall asleep.

He never so cuddled with his mother, no matter how fervent the longings
that filled his heart. She was always finely dressed; and her eyes were
never for him alone. They were fixed on some distant and glittering
goal, quite beyond the boy's understanding.

Then there was David, big of stature, big of mind. David, given over to
many long, silent periods, because David had lost a loved and cherished
one.

There were times when David would take Graham with him on long rambles,
and then he would talk. He knew everything about the birds, their
habits, their peculiarities, their fears, and their courage. He put into
Graham a great love for the little creatures. Often together near a nest
they would stand, and, scarce breathing, watch the first lesson given by
a mother bird to a frightened young one.

"She's greater, that mother, than some humans," David said once, when
they were on their way home.

"Why?" asked Graham, interestedly.

"Well," said David, slowly, "we most of us hold on too long when it's
time for those we love to try their wings."

"You wouldn't hold on, would you, David?" asked Graham, his boyish eyes
upturned in perfect faith to his friend.

"I might, Graham; human nature is weak and wants always its own."

Upon reaching home Graham would ask: "Will you have time to go riding
this afternoon, David?"

And David would answer: "Perhaps, my lad, if there's not too much work
in the gardens."

Once Graham asked: "Why do you do such work, David? You could be in the
city making lots of money." Thus Graham, who through heritage had been
innoculated with that thought, that money meant everything.

And David had turned with a swift gesture: "Why should I mistreat my
spirit, kill my brightest self trying for money, young Graham? Here
among my flowers, working in the soil, I find time to think."

Graham looked strangely at David. Time to think! On what? Well he knew
that David would tell him some day, and then he would weigh in his own
mind the question of whether it were wise to work hard at