ards
herself as the arbiter of destiny. By God, you are prodigious!"

"I think you are horrid."

"So are you. You are the heiress to millions and millions. No wonder you
put on airs."

Occasionally, to exceptional beings, a hand issuing from nowhere offers
a cup brimming with madness, filled to the top with follies and dreams.

At that cup Cassy stared. It was unreal. If she tried to touch it, it
would vanish.

"It is impossible!" she cried.

Jones looked about. "Where is my harp?"

Cassy did not know, she could not tell him. She had not even heard. A
crater in the Wall Street sky had opened and from it, in an enchanted
shower, fell sequins, opals, perfumes and stars.

But Jones must have found his harp. To that shower he was strumming an
accompaniment.

"In to-day's paper there is a Red Cross appeal which says that what we
give is gone. It is incredible, but educated people believe it. The
ignorance of educated people is affecting. By reason of their education,
which now and then includes mythology, they believe that happiness is
the greatest of all the gifts that the gods can bestow. Being mortal,
they try to obtain it. Being ignorant, they fail. Ignorance confounds
pleasure with happiness. Pleasure comes from without, happiness from
within. People may be very gay and profoundly miserable, really rich and
terribly poor. In either case their condition is due to the fact that
the happiness which they sought, they sought for themselves. Their error
would be stupid were it not pathetic. In seeking happiness for
themselves they fail to find it, but when they succeed in securing it
for others, they find that on them also it has been bestowed. The money
we give is not gone. It comes back to us. It returns in happiness and
all the happiness that the richest, the poorest, the wisest, the
stupidest can ever possess, is precisely that happiness which they have
given away."

Where now where those doors? Cassy, the cascade of flowers and stars
about her, looked at the harper. In listening to him, the doors had
ceased to slam. About them there was peace. But her eyes had filled.

Jones was still at it.

"The greatest happiness is the cessation of pain. That pagan aphorism
the Red Cross might put on its banners. Spiritually it is defective, but
practically it is sound and some relief the Red Cross supplies. Give to
it. You can put your money to no fairer use. It will hallow the grave
where your father lies."

From