riage beside Henry Fenn, Grant saw Margaret staring at
him, and saw her turn pale and slide down into her husband's arms, as
she recognized Grant's face among those who had come out of death. Then
he saw his father and little Kenyon in the crowd and he dashed through
the thick of it to them. There he held the boy high in the air, and
cried as the little arms clung about his neck.

The great hoarse whistles roared and the shrill siren whistles screamed
and the car bells clanged and the church bells rang. But they did not
roar and scream and peal and toll for money and wealth and power, but
for life that was returned. As for the army of the dead below, for all
their torture, for all their agony and the misery they left behind for
society to heal or help or neglect--the army of the dead had its requiem
that New Year's eve, when the bells and whistles and sirens clamored for
money that brings wealth, and wealth that brings power, and power that
brings pleasure, and pleasure that brings death--and death?--and death?

The town had met death. But no one even in that place of mourning could
answer the question that the child heard in the bells. And yet that
divine spark of heroism that burns unseen in every heart however high,
however low--that must be the faltering, uncertain light which points us
to the truth across the veil through the mists made by our useless
tears.

And thus a New Year in Harvey began its long trip around the sun, with
its sorrows and its joys, with its merry pantomime and its mutes
mourning upon the hearse, with its freight of cares and compensations
and its sad ironies. So let us get on and ride and enjoy the journey.

CHAPTER XVII

A CHAPTER WHICH INTRODUCES SOME POSSIBLE GODS

When Grant Adams had told and retold his story to the reporters and had
eaten what Dr. Nesbit would let him eat, it was late in the afternoon.
He lay down to sleep with the sun still shining through the shutters in
his low-ceiled, west bed room. Through the night his father sat or slept
fitfully beside him and when the morning sun was high, and still the
young man slept on, the father guarded him, and would let no one enter
the house. At noon Grant rose and dressed. He saw the Dexters coming
down the road and he went to the door to welcome them. It seemed at
first that the stupor of sleep was not entirely out of his brain. He was
silent and had to be primed for details of his adventure. He sat down to
eat, but when