ed folly on the veranda. But under the elm tree, eyes met, and
across space went the message that binds lives forever. She picked up a
twig longer than most twigs about her, reached with it and touched his
forehead furtively, stroked his crinkled hair, blushing at her boldness.
His head sank to the earth, he put his face upon the grass, and for a
second he found joy in the rush of tears. They heard voices, bringing
the planet back to them; but voices far away. On the hill across the
little valley they could see two earnest golfers, working along the
sky-line.

The couple on the sky-line hurried along in the heat. The man mopped his
face, and his brown, hairy arms, and his big sinewy neck. The woman,
rather thin, but fresh and with the maidenly look of one who isn't
entirely sure what that man will do next, kept well in the lead.

"Well, Emma--there's love's young dream all right." He stopped to puff,
and waved at the couple by the tree. Then he hitched up his loose, baggy
trousers, gave a jerk to his big flowing blue necktie, let fly at the
ball and cried "Fore." When he came up to the ball again, he was red and
winded. "Emma," he said, "let's go have something to eat at the
house--my figure'll do for an emeritus bridegroom--won't it?" And thus
they strolled over the fields and out of the game.

But on another hill, another couple in the midst of a flock of children
attracted by one of Mr. Brotherton's smashing laughs, looked down and
saw Lila and Kenyon. The quick eyes of love caught the meaning of the
figures under the tree.

"Look, mamma--look," said Nathan Perry, pointing toward the tree.

"Oh, Nate," cried Anne, "--isn't it nice! Lila and Kenyon!"

"Well, mamma--are you happy?" asked Nathan, as he leaned against the
tree beside her. She nodded and directed their glances to the children
and said gently, "And they justify it--don't they?"

He looked at her for a moment, and said, "Yes, dear--I suppose that's
what the Lord gave us love for. That is why love makes the world go
around."

"And don't the people who don't have them miss it--my! Nate, if they
only knew--if these bridge-playing, childless ones knew how dear they
are--what joy they bring--just as children--not for anything else--do
you suppose they would--"

"Oh, you can't tell," answered the young father. "Perhaps selfish people
shouldn't have children; or perhaps it's the children that make us
unselfish, and so keep us happy. Maybe it's one of tho