That is the business of the fire, and of the oaks and of the shadows. I know that the shadows dance strangely, and hover and come near at hand, in those late hours of the night; but what then occurs I do not know. These two friends never questioned this. They knew it was the secret of the night, and gave the oak its own request, in pay for its protection and consent. They gave the oak its union with the sacred Past.

In the night I have heard the oak sob. Yet in the morning, when the sun was silvering the wake of all the leaping fishes, the oak was always gentle, and it said, "Wake, wake! G.o.d is wise.

Waken, waken! G.o.d is good!"

As pure shining beads upon a thread of gold I saw this small, dear picture, reiterant and unchanged, year after year, always with the same calm and pure surroundings. Only as year added itself to year, slipping forward on the golden string, I saw the gray figure grow more gray, more bowed, more feeble. Alas! it seemed to me I saw the silver coming upon the head of the younger man, and his eyes growing weary, as of one who looks at the earth too closely (which it is not wise to do). Yet the years came, to the oaks and to the gra.s.ses and to the friends.

The gra.s.s dies every year, but it is born again. The oak dies in centuries, but it is born again. Man dies in three score years and ten; but he, too, is born again.

As I looked, I could see the pa.s.sing of the years. In all but the unaltering fire of friendship I could see change creeping on. Grayer, grayer, more bent, more feeble--is it not so, Singing Mouse? And now, this time, what was this gentle warning that the oak tried to whisper softly down? Perhaps the grayer friend heard it, as he sat musing by the fire. He rose and looked about him, as one who had dreamed and was content. He looked up at the solemn stars unafraid, and so murmured to himself. "Day unto day uttereth speech," he said; "Night unto night showeth knowledge."

Day unto day, Singing Mouse. Day unto day.

Woe is me, Singing Mouse, and these are bitter tears for that which you have shown I see it all again, the oaks, the glade, the tiny house of white, the small pleasant fire. Here again is the little table, and here is the evening meal. The table is still spread for two. A double portion is served as was wont before. Yet why? For all is not the same. At this table there is but one form now. The younger man is there, although now he has grown gray and stooped. Year unto year, day unto day, the beads have slipped along the string. Once young, now old, he keeps the camp alone!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

But is he then alone? Hush! The squirrels have grown still, and even the oak is silent. What is that opposite, across the table, at the seat long years held only by the elder of these two? Tell me, Singing Mouse, is it not true that I see there, sitting as of old at the table, the same st.u.r.dy form, the same simple, innocent and believing face? It is the gray ghost of one grown gray in goodness. It is the shadow of a shadow, the apparition of a soul!

The one at the table pauses, as was the wont before the beginning of a meal. He looks across the table to the shadow, as if the shadow were his friend. The shadow bows its head. The living man bows also his head at the board. The shadow moves its lips. Doubt not those words are heard this day.

See, the sun rises through the trees. The glorious day sets on once more. Doubt not, fear not, sorrow not, ye two. Bow the head still, ye two, and let not my picture perish. Whisper again the benediction of the years, and let me hear once more the murmur of the oak's Amen!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Birth of the Hours]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE BIRTH OF THE HOURS

"Do you know the story of the Wedding of the Times?" said the Singing Mouse. "You know, all life is a wedding. The flowers love, and the gra.s.ses, and the trees; and the circle of the wedding ring is the circle of life and the sign of eternity.

Death and life, not life and then death, is the order and the law.

"The hours are born of parents, as are the flowers. The hours of the day are born of the wedding of Night and Morning. It is the way of Life. Come with me."

So with the Singing Mouse I went into a place where I was once long before. I could see it very well. It was in the deep woods, far away. Near by there were tall, sweet gra.s.ses. I could hear the faint tinkle of a falling stream. Other than that, it was silent in the deep woods. Overhead the sky was clear and filled with stars. The stars trembled and twinkled and shone radiantly fair. So now all at once I knew they were the jewels on the veil of Night. And the far shadows were the drapery of the Night, and the greater light of the heavens was the star upon her coronal.

When I first looked forth, the Night was a babe, but as I gazed it grew. The Night is full of change and charm. Those who live within the walls do not see these things. When I saw them, I could not sleep, for the Night in all her changes seemed to speak.

The Night grew older, drawing about her her more ornate garb of witchery. Across her bosom fell a wondrous tissue, trembling with exuberance of unprismed light. These were the gems in thousands of the skies, all fair against the blackness of the robes of Night, and I knew that the blackness of the one was as lovely as the radiance of the other. Nor could one separate one from the other, for there arose a thin mist of light, so that one saw form or features only dimly, as through a cloth of silver lace, such as the spiders weave upon a morning.

The Night grew on, changing at every moment, for change is the law. There were small frowns of clouds which were replaced by smiles of light. Did never you hear the laughter of the Night?

It is a strange thing. Not all men have heard it. The Singing Mouse told me of this.

Now as I lay and looked at this glorious apparition, there came still another change, and one most wonderful. In the heart of the Night there came a tremulous exultation. Upon the face of the Night appeared a roseate tinge of joyous perturbation. So then I knew the lover of the Night was coming, and knew, too, whence we have derived the signs of love as among human beings we see it indicated. I saw the flush upon the cheek of Night flame slowly and faintly up, until it touched her very forehead.

This is the way of Love. But the Night went on, for this is the way of Life. Love and Life, these are ever and for ever. We mock at them and understand them not, but they are ever and for ever.

And now the Night, I know not whether startled or in joy, whether ashamed of her dark garb, or unconscious of it in the proud sureness of her beauty, dropped loose a portion of the shadows of her robe, and stood forth radiant, clad with the dazzling beauty of her stars. Then she raised her hand and laid it on her heart.

And so the Morning came and took her in his arms and kissed her on the brow. So here was Love again. And of this wedding there were born the hours.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Stone that Had no Thought]

THE STONE THAT HAD NO THOUGHT

"Once," said the Singing Mouse, "while many men hurried into the city, as, each day, they do, they saw many other men standing about a place where a large building was growing. There were those who raised stones on long arms of steel, and swung them about, high up into the wall. Others remained upon the earth to place these stones upon the long arms of steel. Now a stone had fallen, and beneath it lay what had been a man; and around this many stood.

"The long arm reached out after stones, and so this stone again was taken and raised into the air. That which had been a man lay broken, never again to rise and smile and walk. Near to it stood a woman, not weeping, being still too sad for weeping. Above her arose the stone once more, heavy and without thought. It rose above the woman and above this that had been a man, and as it swung high and slow above her the woman looked up at it, as though to ask of it mercy. But the stone pa.s.sed slowly on, heavy and without thought. It is in the wall to-day, heavy and without thought. Some say that is a temple, others that there is a G.o.d in it. But no G.o.d replies. And the stone is in the wall, heavy, without thought."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Tear and the Smile]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

THE TEAR AND THE SMILE

The Singing Mouse came and sat near by. Undoubtedly the room was dingy to the last degree. The dust lay thick upon the corner of the table. It crusted the window ledge and hung upon the sallow wall. What was the use, things being as they were, to disturb the dust? Let it lie in all its bitterness. And let the charred ends of the f.a.gots roll out upon the floor. And let the fire die down to ashes. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes. It was very fit.

But the Singing Mouse came and sat near by. I could hear it patter among the dead leaves of the flowers that lay upon the table. I turned my head and saw it sitting close by my fallen hand. Its tiny paws were waving. I could see its breast, for which a rose leaf would have been a giant buckler, pulsing and beating above its throbbing heart. Its eyes were shining....

A rhythm came into the swing of the pink-tinted paws. And then, so high and thin and sweet that at first I looked above to trace the sound, there came the singing of the Singing Mouse....

Dreams fell upon my eyes.

I heard that sweet sound of the woods, the tinkle of falling water, which is so full of change, now keen, clear and metallically musical, now soft, slurred and full of sleep. I could not see the little stream, but knew it ran down there beneath the talking pines. But very well one could see the hill where the small white house had stood among the trees. The white house was gone now, though the gra.s.s pressed down by the blankets had not yet fully arisen. The smoke of the camp-fire still wavered up. It followed one, with long, out-reaching arms of vapor. With its fingers it beckoned and begged for its old companions yet a while. Did never one look back at the smoke of the camp-fire that one leaves? Always, the heart of the fire will stir at this time of parting. A little blaze will burst out among the embers, and the smoke will reach out and beckon one to stay. It is very hard to leave such a fire.

Certainly there must be strange things, of which we know but little. Surely there was a figure in the wreath of smoke.

I could see the drapery shape itself about a form. I could see the outstretched arms. I could see the face, the gravely smiling lips.

"There are many things in the land of the Singing Mouse,"

murmured my small magician. "It is only there that one sees clearly." So I looked and listened to the figure which was in the smoke of the little fire.