t in the
great game. May he return safely, and may the hand of time deal gently
with him! Were I fitted for it, I should gladly take his place. The idea
of also running away, before temptation becomes unendurable, is
beginning to appeal to me with no little strength.

But what could I do at that front where they want men of youthful vigor
and bravery, in whom the generous sap of life at its finest runs
swiftly? I think I will have to remain here and continue to turn out my
little stories. I will keep on giving them a happy ending, that my
readers may finish them contentedly. But always I shall remain conscious
of the tale of my own life, in which there will never be an entrance
into that happiness I so freely bestow on the poor little children of my
imagination.

Yet, who knows? It may be that, for many years yet, I may from time to
time see Frances, even if her art should take her at times far from me.
She may teach Baby Paul to look upon me as some sort of uncle, who bears
him great affection and even love. The boy may, in the future, come to
me and tell me of his pleasures and his pains, and listen to the advice
old fellows so freely and uselessly give. And I will talk to him of his
mother, of the brave good woman who toiled for him, who shed the benison
of her tenderness on him, and yet had some left that she could bestow on
the obscure scribbler. Never will I tell him that the writer of stories
loved her, for that is something that must remain locked up in my
heart.

CHAPTER XVII

MISS VAN ROSSUM CALLS

For some time I have permitted these pages to lie fallow. I thought I
would not continue to jot down the events and the feelings that crowded
themselves upon me, since they could serve only to make more permanent
to mind and memory a period of my life in which there has been much
sweetness and comfort of mind mingled, however, with the sadness that
comes upon the man who knows he can never achieve his heart's desire. I
deemed it best to cease my unprofitable ruminations over things flavored
with some distress. Why keep on rehearsing them over and over again and
sitting down in the wee small hours to make confidants of heartless
sheets of paper?

Yet to-day I feel that, in after years, they may possibly prove of value
to me. Man is so fortunately constituted that he remembers happiness and
joy more vividly than pain. The day may come when I shall pick up these
sheets and smile a little over my sorrows