, wistful
longing, and a realization of the flight of time.

He could have wept, he could have sung, but he only shuddered and lay
silent under the stress of that strange, sweet passion which quickened
his heart, deepened his eyes, and made his breath come and go with a
quivering sound. Across the dazzling blue arch of the sky the crow
flapped, sending down his prophetic, jubilant note; the breeze, as soft
and sweet as April, stirred in his hair; the hills, deep in their dusky
blue, seemed miles away; and the voices of the care-free skaters on the
melting ice of the river below came to the ear subdued to a unity with
the scene.

Suddenly a fear seized upon the boy--a horror! Life, life was passing!
Life that can be lived only once, and lost, is lost forever! Life, that
fatal gift of the Invisible Powers to man--a path, with youth and joy
and hope at its eastern gate, and despair, regret, and death at its low
western portal!

The boy caught a momentary glimpse of his real significance. "I am only
a gnat, a speck in the sun, a youth facing the millions of great and
wise and wealthy!" He leaped up in a frenzy. "Oh, I mustn't stay here! I
must get back to my studies. Life is slipping by me, and I am doing
nothing, being nothing!"

His face, as pale as death, shone with passionate resolution, and his
hands were clinched in silent vow.

But on his way back he met the jocund party of skaters going home from
the river, and with the easy shift and change of youth joined in their
ringing laughter. The weird power of the wind's voice was gone, and he
sank to the level of the unthinking boy again. However, the problem was
only put off, not solved.

That night Hartley said: "Well, pardner, we're getting 'most ready to
pull out. Someways I always get restless when these warm days begin."
This was as sentimental as Hartley ever got; or, if he ever felt more
sentiment, he concealed it carefully.

"I s'pose it must 'a' been in spring that those old chaps, on their
steeds and in their steel shirts, started out for to rescue some damsel,
hey?" he ended, with a grin. "Now, that's the way I feel--just like
striking out for, say, Oshkosh. That little piece of lofty tumbling of
yours was a big boom, and no mistake. Why, your share o' this campaign
will be a hundred and twenty dollars sure."

"More'n I've earned," replied Bert.

"No, it ain't. You've done your duty like a man. Done as much in your
way as I have. Now, if you want to