“All that was death
Grows life, grows love,
Grows love!”
Janet and I came in the next evening out of the warm twilight, and found
baby Jean waiting for us with her father and mother in the library.
Janet had spoken again of the Lad’s love for her. We had been walking in
the deep green shadows of the trees in the park.
“I cannot understand it,” she said, with a little gasp that was half a
sob. “The very air seems warm with the breath of the people who love me.
The Lad has made the whole world care. Even the beggars and the children
on the street are fond of me.”
We sat in the library for a few minutes, talking of old things and new.
As I rose to go, a boy came to the house, bringing a telegram. It said
that the Lad had been killed in an accident.
A silence like the hush of eternity fell upon the room. No one dared
look at Janet’s face.
Presently Jean pattered across the room and picked up the telegram,
which had fallen from hands powerless to hold it. She looked at it
soberly for a minute. Then with a ripple of laughter she crumpled it up
in her hands. She was very fond of all things yellow.