SUCCESS
The world said that he was a young man to have achieved so notable aSuccess. And he was. But years have, really, little to do with a man'sage. It is the use that a man makes of his years that ages him orkeeps him young.
This man knew that he was a man. He knew that manhood is not a matterof years. And, knowing this, he had dreamed a man's dream. In theworld he had found something to do--a man's work--and from hisOccupation he had gained Knowledge. He had learned the value ofIgnorance and, behind the things that men have hung upon and piledabout it, he had come to recognize Religion. He knew both the dangersand the blessings of Tradition. He had gained the heights that arefortified by Temptation and from those levels so far above thelowlands had looked out upon Life. Death he knew as a fact and throughFailure he had passed as through a smelting furnace. It is thesethings, I say, that count for more in life than years. So, although hewas still young, the man was ready for Success. He was in the fullnessof his manhood strength. The tide of Life, for him, was just reachingits height.
I do not know just what it was in which the man achieved Success. Justwhat it was, indeed, is not my story; nor does it matter for Successis always the same. My story is this: that the man achieved Successwhile he was still young and strong to rejoice in the triumph.
The dreams that he had dreamed on the hilltop, when first he realizedhis manhood, were, in part, fulfilled. He was looked upon by the worldas one not of the common herd--as one not of the rank and file. He wasaccepted, in the field of his work, as a leader--a master. He was heldas one having authority and power. The world pointed him out to itschildren as an example to be followed. The mob, that crowds always atthe foot of the ladder, looked up and cursed or begged or praised asis the temper of such mobs. His name was often in the papers. When heappeared on the streets or in public places he was recognized. Thepeople told each other who he was and what he had done. He wasreceived as a companion by those who were counted great by the world.Doors that were closed to the multitude, and that had been closed tohim, were opened readily. Opportunities, offered only to the few, werepresented. The golden stream of wealth flowed to his feet. By thefoolish hangers-on of the world he was sought--he was offered praiseand admiration. All that is called Success, in short, was his; not inso great a measure as had come to some older than he, it is true; butit was genuine; it was merited; it was secure; and, with the years, itwould increase as a river nearing the sea.
And the man, as he looked back to that day of his dreams, was gladwith an honest gladness. As he looked back to the time when he hadasked of the world only something to do, he was proud with a justpride. As he looked back upon the things out of which he had buildedhis Success and saw how well he had builded, he was satisfied. Butstill in his gladness and pride and satisfaction there was adisappointment.
In his dreams, when he had looked out upon the world as a conqueringemperor, the man had seen only the deeds of valor--the exhibitions ofcourage, of heroism, of strength--he had seen only the victories--thehonors. But now, in the fulfillment of his dreams--when he had won thevictory--when the honors were his--he knew the desperate struggle, thedisastrous losses, the pitiful suffering. He had felt the dangers griphis heart. He had felt the horrid fear of defeat striking at his soul.Upon him were the marks of the conflict. His victory had not been wonwithout effort. Success had demanded a price and he had paid. Perhapsno one but the man himself knew how great was the price he had paid.
The man found also that Success brought cares greater than he had everknown in the days of his struggle. Always there are cares that wait atthe end of the battle and attend only upon the victor. Always thereare responsibilities that come only when the victory is won--that arenever seen in the heat of the conflict.
Once let it be discovered that you have the strength and thewillingness to carry burdens and burdens will be heaped upon you untilyou stagger, fainting, under the load. Life has never yet bred a manwho could shoulder the weight that the world insists that he take upin his success. And, when the man could not carry all the burdens thatthe world brought because his strength and endurance was only that ofa mortal, the world cursed him--called him selfish, full of greed,heartless, an oppressor caring nothing for the woes of others. Thosewho had offered no helping hand in the time of his need now clamoredloudly for a large part of his strength. Those who had cared nothingfor his life in the times of his hardships now insisted that he givethe larger part of his life to them. Those who had held him back nowdemanded that he lift them up to a place beside him. Those who hadshown him only indifference--coldness--contempt, now begged of himattention--friendship--honors--aid.
And from all these things that attended his success the man found itimpossible to escape. The cares, the burdens, the responsibilitiesthat Success forced him to take up rested heavily upon him. So heavyindeed were these things that he had little strength or will left forthe enjoyment of that which he had so worthily won.
And the victory that he had so hardily gained, the place that he nowheld, the man found that he could keep only by the utmost exertion ofhis strength. The battles he had fought were nothing in comparison tothose he must now fight. The struggle he had made was nothing to theeffort he must continue to make. Temptations multiplied and appearedin many new and unexpected forms. The very world that pointed him outas an example watched eagerly for excuse to condemn. Those who soughthim with honors--who praised and flattered him, in envy, secretlyhoped for his ruin. Those who followed him like dogs for favors wouldhowl like wolves on his trail if he turned ever so little aside. Thosewho opened for him the doors of opportunities would flock likevultures to carrion if he should fall. The world, that, withoutconsideration, heaped upon him its burdens, would trample him beneathits feet if he should slip under the weight. Nor had he in Success wonfreedom. His very servants were freer than he, to come and go, to seektheir peculiar pleasures.
The chains with which Success had fettered the man were unusuallygalling and heavy upon him that day, when, on his way to an importantappointment, his carriage was checked in a crowded street. The man'smind was so absorbed in the business waiting his attention that he didnot notice how dense was the crowd that barred the way.Impatiently--with overwrought nerves--he spoke sharply, commanding hisman to drive on.
The man begged pardon but it was impossible.
"Impossible," still more sharply, "what's the matter?"
The driver ventured a smile, "It's the circus parade, sir."
"Then turn around."
But that, too, was impossible. The traffic had pushed in behindhemming them in.
Then, down the street that crossed in front of the crowded jam ofvehicles, came the familiar sound of trumpets and the gorgeouslyattired heralds at the head of the procession appeared, followed bythe leading band with its crashing, smashing, music.
As gilded chariot followed gilded chariot, each drawn by many pairs ofbeautiful horses, gaily plumed and equipped--as the many riders, inglittering armor and flashing, spangled, costumes, rode proudly past;followed by the long line of elephants and camels with the cages oftheir fellow captives; and, in turn, by the chariot racers, theclowns, and the wagons of black faced fun makers; and at last by thesteam calliope with its escort of madly shouting urchins--the man inthe carriage slipped away from the cares and burdens of the presentinto the freedom of his Yesterdays. He escaped from the galling chainsthat Success had put upon him and lived again a circus day in the longago.
Weeks before the date of the great event, the barns and sheds andevery available wall in the little village, to which the boy oftenwent with his father, would be covered with gorgeous picturesannouncing the many startling, stupendous, wonders, to be seen for sosmall a price. There was a hippopotamus of such size that a boat loadof twenty naked savages was not for him a mouthful. There wereelephants so huge that the house where the boy lived was but a playhouse beside them. There were troops of aerial artists, who, on wiresand rings and trapeze and ladders and ropes, did daring, dreadful,death defyin
g, deeds, that no simian in his old world forest wouldever think of attempting. There was a great, glittering, gorgeous,procession, of such length that the farther end was lost beyond thedistant horizon and tents that covered more acres of ground than theboy could see from the top of the orchard hill.
Wonderful promises of the billboards! Wonderful! Wonderful promises ofthe billboards of Life! Wonderful!
Then would follow the days of waiting--the endless days ofwaiting--when the boy, with the help of the little girl, would try tobe everything that the billboards pictured, from the roaring lion inhis cage to the painted clown who cut such side splitting capers andthe human fly that, with her gay Japanese parasol, walked upside downupon a polished ceiling. When circus day was coming, the fairies andknights and princes and soldiers and all their tried and truecompanions were forced to go somewhere--anywhere--out of the boy'sway. There was no time, in those busy days, even for fishing. The oldmill pond had no charm that was not exceeded by the promises of thebillboards. The earth itself, indeed, was merely a place upon which topitch a circus tent. The charms of the little girl, even, were almosttotally eclipsed by the captivating loveliness of those ladies who, inspangled tights of blue and pink and red, hung by their teeth at dizzyheights, bestrode glittering wheels upon slack wires, or were shotfrom cannon to soar, amid black smoke and lurid flame, like angels,far above the heads of the common people.
There was no lying in bed to be called the third time the morning ofthat day; when at last it came. Scarcely had the sun peeped throughthe orchard on the hill when the boy was up and at the windowanxiously looking to see if the sky was clear. Very early the startfor town was made for there is much on circus day that is not picturedon the billboards--_that_, of course, the boy knew. And, as theydrove through the fresh smelling fields, the boy would wonder if thelong journey would ever come to an end and would ask himself, withsinking heart: "What if they had mistaken the day? What if somethinghad happened that the circus could not materialize the promises of thebillboards? What, if the hippopotamus, the elephants, the beautifulladies in spangles and tights, and all the other promises of thebillboards should fail?" And somewhere, deep within his being, the boywould feel a thrill of gladness that the little girl was so closebeside him. If anything should happen that the promises of thebillboards should fail he would need the little girl. While, ifnothing happened--if it was all as pictured--still it would not beenough if the little girl were not there.
It was all over at last. The spangled riders galloped out of the ring;the trapeze performers made their last death defying leap; the clowncracked his last joke and cut his last caper; the last peanut in thesack was devoured by the elephant; and, at the close of the long day,the boy and the girl went back through the quiet fields to theirhomes; tired with the excitement and wonder of it all but with sighsof content and happiness. And, deep in his heart, that night, the boyresolved that he would grow up to travel with a circus. He would bevery sorry to leave father and mother and the little girl but nothingin the world--nothing--should keep him from such a glorious career.
The man knew, now, that the promises of those billboards in hisYesterdays were never fulfilled. He knew, now, that the goldenchariots were not gold at all but only gilded. He knew, now, thatthose wondrous beings who wore the glittering, spangled, costumes,were only very common and very ordinary men and women. He did not,now, envy the riders in the procession or the performers in the tent.He knew that to have a place in the parade or to perform in the ring,is to envy those whose applause you must win. The quiet of the oldfields; the peaceful home under the orchard hill; the gentlecompanionship of the little girl; these were the things that in theman's life endured long after the glamor of the circus was gone.
Through the circus day crowd the man was driven on to his appointmentbut his mind was not now occupied with the business that awaited him.His thoughts were not with the crowd that filled the streets. Hisheart was in his Yesterdays. The music of the circus band, the sightof the parade that so stirred his memories of childhood, had awakenedwithin him a hunger for the old home scenes. He longed to escape fromSuccess--to get away from the circus parade of Life in which he foundhimself riding. He was weary of performing in the ring. He wanted togo home through the quiet fields. Perhaps--perhaps--amid the scenes ofhis Yesterdays, he might find that which Success had not brought.
As quickly as he could make arrangements, he went.
Of the woman's success, I cannot write here. My story has been poorlytold, indeed, if I have not made it clear that, for this woman whoknew herself to be a woman, Success was inseparable from Love.
For every woman who knows herself to be a woman, Love and Success areone.
LOVE
Again it was that time of the year when every corner of the world is alovers' corner.
On bough and branch, in orchard and wood; on bush and vine, in gardenand yard; in meadow grass and pasture sod; on the silvery lichens thatcling to the rocks; among the ferns and mosses that dwell in coolretreats; amid the reeds and rushes by the old mill pond; in thefragrant mints and fluted blades on the banks of the little creek; thechildren of Nature sought their mates or by their mates were sought.
Every flower cup was a loving cup, lifted to drink a pledge to Life;every tint of color was a blush of love, called forth by the wooing ofLife; every perfumed breath was a breath of love, a blessing andprayer of Life; every rustling movement was a whisper of love, apromised word of Life; every touch of the breeze was a caress of love,a passionate kiss of Life; every sunbeam was a smile of love, warmwith the tender triumph of Life.
The bees, that, in their labor for hive and swarm, carry the goldenpollen from flower to flower, preach thus the word of God. The gauzewinged insects, that, in the evening, dance their aerial mating dance,declare thus the Creator's will. The fireflies, that, in the nighttime, light their tiny lamps of love, signal thus a message from thethrone on high.
The fowls of the air, singing their mating songs; the wild stallion onthe hills, trumpeting aloud his fiery strength; the bull on theplains, thundering his bellowing challenge; the panther that in themountains screams to his mate; the wolf that in the timber howls tohis mistress; declare thus the supreme law of Life--make known theunchanging purpose of God--and evidence an authority and power divine.
In all this wooing and mating; in all this seeking and being sought;in all this giving and receiving; in all this loving and being loved;in all natural and holy desire; Life is exalted--the divine isworshiped--acceptable offerings to God are made.
To preserve Life--to perpetuate Life--to produce Life--to perfectLife--to exalt Life--this is the purpose of Life. In all the activityof Life there is no other meaning manifest. This, indeed, _is_Life. How foolish then to think only of eternal Life as though itbegan at the grave. This Life that _is_, is the eternal Life._Eternity is to-day_. The man and woman who mate in love fulfillthus the eternal law of Life, and, in their children, conceived andborn in Love, do they know and do the will of God, even as do allthings that are alive.
Life and Love are one.
The man had been at his boyhood home but three days when the neighbor,who lived next door, told him that his childhood playmate was coming,with her aunt, to visit their old home for a few weeks.
"Needs a rest and quiet" the neighbor said; and smiled at nothing atall as neighbors will sometimes do.
Perhaps, though, the neighbor smiled at the look of surprise andbewilderment that swept over the man's face as he heard the news, orit might have been at the mingling of pleasure and regret that was inhis voice as he answered: "Indeed." Or, perhaps, the neighbor waswondering what the woman would say and how she would look if she knewthat the man was to be next door. Whatever the reason the neighborsmiled.
They did not know that the woman was, in reality, seeking to escapefrom the thought of Failure that so haunted her. Since that day whenher good friend had talked to her of her career and had gravelyasked--"for _you_ do you think it would be success?"--her workhad become mor
e and more unbearable. In desperation, at last, she hadarranged to go, for a few weeks, back to the scenes of her girlhood;hoping to find there, as she had found before, the peace and strengthshe needed.
The cherry tree, in the corner of the garden near the hedge, showeredthe delicate petals of its blossoms down with every touch of thegentle breeze. In the nearby bower of green, a pair of brown birds hadjust put the finishing touch to a new nest. But, in the years that hadpassed since that boy and girl play wedding, the tree had grown large,and scarred, and old. Many pairs of brown birds had nested and rearedtheir broods in the hedge since that day when the lad had kissed hischildhood mate with a kiss that was different. And the little openingthrough which the boy and girl had so often gone at each other's callwas closed by a growth of branches that time had woven as if to shut,forever, that gateway of their Yesterdays. On his former visit, theman had looked for that gateway of his childhood but could not findit. And now, when he heard that she was coming, he went again,curiously, to see if he could find any sign to show where the openinghad been. But the branches that the years had woven hid from the man'seyes every trace of the old way that, in his Yesterdays, had been soplain.
Late that afternoon, when the neighbor, coming from the depot with hisguests, drove slowly up the hill, the man stood at the gate where,years before, the little boy had sat on the post, and, swinging hisbare legs, had watched the big wagons, loaded with household goods,turning into the yard of the place next door.
There was no reason why the man should get up when the first touchesof gray light showed in the eastern sky the next morning, but the dayseemed to call him and he arose and went out. From the little hillwhere he had sat that day when first he knew that he was a man andwhere his manhood life began with his dreams, he watched the sun riseand saw the sleeping world awake. Then back through the orchard thatwas all dew drenched and ringing with the morning hymn of the birds,he went, until he stood in the garden.
The man did not know why he went into the garden. Something seemed tolead him there. And he went very softly as one goes into places thatare holy with the memories of dead years. Very still, he stood,watching the two birds that had builded their nest in the hedge nearthe cherry tree that, now, lifted its branches so high. The two birdswere very, very, busy that morning; but, busy as they were, the fatherbird could not resist pouring forth the joy of his life in a flood ofmelody while his mate, swinging and fluttering and chirping on anearby twig, seemed to enter as fully and heartily into his sentimentsas though the song were her own. Breathlessly, with bare head andupturned, eager, face, the man watched and listened.
When the song was ended he drew a long breath--then started and,without moving from his place, looked carefully around. A low call hadreached his ears--a familiar call that seemed to come out of the longago. Surely his fancy was playing him strange tricks that morning.
He was turning toward the house when, again, that call came--low andclear. It was a call of his Yesterdays. And this time it was followedby a low, full throated laugh that was as full of music as the song ofthe bird to which the man had been listening.
With amazement and wonder upon his face, he turned quickly toward thehedge, as a voice that was like an echo of the laugh said: "Goodmorning! Pardon me for startling you--you looked so much like thelittle boy that I couldn't resist."
When they told me that you were here I wanted to goaway again]
"But where are you?" asked the man, bewildered still.
Again came that low, full throated laugh. Then: "I believe you think Iam a ghost. I'm here at the hedge--at the old place. Have youforgotten?"
Slowly, as she spoke, he went toward the hedge, guided by her voice."So _you_ found it then," he said slowly, gazing at the beautifulwoman face that was framed in the green of the leaves and branches.
And at his words, the woman's heart beat quicker--so he had_tried_ to find it--but aloud she only said: "Of course."
To which he returned smilingly: "But it is quite grown over now, isn'tit? You could scarcely come through there now as you used to do--couldyou?"
The woman laughed again. "I could if I were a man"--she challenged.
A moment later he stood beside her; a little breathless, with hisclothing disarranged, and a scratch or two on his face and hands.
"Do you know"--she said when they had shaken hands quite properly asgrown up people must do--"do you know that I was dreadfully afraid tomeet you? When they told me that you were here I wanted to go awayagain. I was afraid that you would be so different. Do youunderstand?"
"Yes," he said, gravely, "I understand." But he did not tell her,then, how fully he understood.
She went on: "But when I looked through the hedge and saw you withyour hat off, watching the birds, I knew you were the same littleboy--and--well--I could not resist giving the old call."
And, all at once, the man knew why he had risen early that morning andwhy he had gone into the garden.
After that, they spent many days together in the scenes of theirchildhood; living over again, so far as man and woman may, theirYesterdays. And so cane, at last, the day that was forever after, tothem, _the_ day of all their days.
It was in the afternoon and they were together down by the littlebrook, in the shade of the willows, where the stream, running lazilyunder the patches of light and shade, murmured drowsily--seeming morethan half asleep. She was weaving an old time daisy chain from a greatarmful that he had helped her gather on their way to the cool retreat.A bit of fancy work that she had brought from the house lay neglectednear his hat, which the man, boy like, had cast aside. He wasindustriously fishing for minnows, with a slender twig of willow for arod, a line of thread from her sewing, and a pin, that she had foundfor him, fashioned into a hook. With a pointed stick he had dug amongthe roots of the old tree for bait--securing one, tiny, thin, worm andrejoicing gleefully at his success. For a long time neither had said aword; but the woman, her white fingers busy with the daisies in herlap, had several times looked up from her pretty task to smile at theman who was so intensely and seriously interested in his childishsport.
"Gee! I nearly got one that time!" He exclaimed with boyish triumphand disappointment in his voice.
The woman laughed merrily. "One would think," she said, "that yourfame in life depended upon your catching one of those poor littlefish. What do you suppose your dear, devoted, public would say if theycould see you now?"
The man grunted his disapproval. "I came out here to get away fromsaid public," he retorted. "Why do you drag 'em into our paradise?"
At his words, a warm color crept into the woman's face, and, bendinglow over the daisies in her lap, she did not answer.
Lifting the improvised fishing tackle of his childhood and looking atit critically the man said: "I suppose, now, that if this rod were asplit bamboo, and this thread were braided silk, and this pin with itswiggly piece of worm were a "Silver Doctor" or a "Queen of the Waters"or a "Dusty Miller" or a "Brown Hackle"; and if this stream were aneducated stream, with educated trout; and the house up there were aclub house; and your dear old aunt, who is watching to see that Idon't eat you, were a lot of whist playing old men; I suppose youwould think it all right and a proper sport for a man. But for me--Ican't see much difference--except that, just now--" he carefullylowered his hook into the water--"just now, I prefer this. In fact,"he added meditatively, "I would rather do this than anything else inthe world."
The color in the woman's face deepened.
After a little, he looked cautiously around to see her bending overthe daisy chain. A moment later, under pretense of examining his bait,he stole another look. Then, in spite of his declaration, he abandonedhis sport to stretch himself full length on the ground at her side.
She did not look at him but bent her head low over the wealth of whiteand gold blossoms in her lap; and the man noticed, with an odd feelingof pleasure, the beautiful curve of her white neck from the soft brownhair to the edge of her dress low on the shoulder. Then, with a slysm
ile, as the boy of their Yesterdays might have done, he stealthilyraised the slender willow twig and with the tip cautiously attemptedto lift the thin golden chain that she always wore loosely about herthroat with the locket or pendant concealed by her dress.
She clutched the chain with a frightened gesture and a littleexclamation. "You must not--you must not do that."
The man laughed aloud as the mischievous boy would have laughed.
But the woman, with flaming cheeks, caught the twig from his hand andthrew it into the creek. "If you are not good, I shall call auntie,"she threatened.
At which he looked ruefully toward the porch and became very serious."Do you know that I am going away to-morrow?" he asked.
"And leave your paradise for your dear public?" she said mockingly."The public will be glad."
"And you, will you care?"
"I'm going back to my work, too, next week," she replied.
"But will you care to-morrow?" he persisted.
The woman's fingers, busy with the daisy chain, trembled.
The man, when she still did not answer his question, arose and,picking up his hat and her sewing, held out his hand.
She looked up into his face questioningly.
"Come"--he said with a grave smile--"come."
Still without speaking, she gave him her hand and he helped her to herfeet; and, at her touch, the man again felt that thrill of pleasure.
The aunt, from her place on the porch, saw them coming up the grassyslope, through the daisies, toward the house. She saw them coming andsmiled--as the neighbor had smiled, so she smiled, apparently, atnothing at all.
But the man and the woman did not go to the porch where the old ladysat. With a wave of their hands, they passed from her sight around thehouse, and, a few minutes later, stood face to face in that quiet,secluded, corner of the garden, under the old cherry tree, close bythe hedge.
"Now," said the man gently, "now tell me--will you be sorry to have mego away to-morrow?"
She made no pretense that she did not understand, Nor did she hesitateas one in doubt. Lifting her head, proudly, humbly, graciously, shelooked at him and, in that look, surrendered to him, without reserve,all the treasures of her womanhood that, with such care, she had keptagainst that hour. And her face was shining with the light that only awoman's mate can kindle.
The man caught his breath. "My wife," he said. "My wife,"
A few moments later he whispered: "Tell me again--I know that you havealways belonged to me and I to you--but tell me again--you will--youwill--be my wife?"
Releasing herself gently, she lifted her hands and, unfastening thatslender chain of gold from around her throat, with rosy cheeks andhappy, tender, eyes, held out to him a tiny brass ring.
So the Yesterdays of the man and the Yesterdays of the woman becameTheir Yesterdays.
All that Dreams, Occupation, Knowledge, Ignorance, Religion,Tradition, Temptation, Life, Death, Failure, Success, Love andMemories had given him, this man who knew that he was a man, gave toher. All that the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life had given her,this woman who knew herself to be a woman, gave to him. And thus thesetwo became one. As God made them one, they became one.
And this is the love that I say, is one of the Thirteen Truly GreatThings of Life.
But my story is not yet quite finished for still, you must know, thereare Memories.
MEMORIES
And the years of the man and the woman passed until all their dayswere Yesterdays.
Even as they had, together, crossed the threshold of the old, old,door that has stood open since the beginning, they stood now,together, upon the threshold of another door that has never beenclosed.
And it was so, that, as once they went back into the Yesterdays thatbecame Their Yesterdays, so they still went back to the days that werepast. It was so, that the things of their manhood and womanhood hadbecome to them, now, even as the things of their childhood. They knew,now, that, indeed, the work of men is but the play of children, afterall.
Their years were nearly spent, it is true. His hair was silvery whiteand his form was bent and trembling. Her cheeks were like the dryingpetals of a rose and her once brown hair was as white as his. But thevigor and strength and life of their years lived still--gloriouslyincreased in the lives that they had given to the race.
Gone were the years of their manhood and womanhood--even as the daysof their boyhood and girlhood--they were gone. But, as the boy and thegirl had lived in the man and the woman, the man and the woman lived,now, in their boys and girls and in the children of their children.
And this was the true glory and the fulfillment of their lives--thatthey could live thus in their children--that they could see themselvesrenewed in their children and in their children's children.
So it was that Memories became to this man and this woman, also, oneof the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life.
There are many things that might be told about this man andwoman--about the work they did, the place they held in life, and therewards and honors they received--but I have put down all that, at theend, seemed of any importance to them. Therefore have I put downall that matters to my story.
What matters to them and to my story is this: always, as they wentback into the Yesterdays, they went back to the days of theirchildhood and to the days of their children. They went back only to_Their_ Yesterdays. To those other days--those days when theywere strangers--they did not go back.
THE END.
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