The mother, lying wan in her bed, smiled happily. "So bonny are they," said the wrinkled beldame, "that I will give to each of them one of my choicest gifts: something they will still keep hugged to their hearts when they are as close to the gates as you or I." "And how close is that?" asked the mother, growing whiter. The wise old midwife turned from the bedside and bent above the infants, mumbling to herself. Presently the mother started up from a doze. There was no one in the room but her married sister. "I dreamed Death was in the room with me just now," said she. "And he had an old woman with him whom he called his Sister. She seemed to me to be giving my babies something: but what it was I don't know. At first I thought it was a plaything; but now I think it was a sorrow. At least. . . ." "_Dear!_ DEAR!" cried her sister, in alarm, as if she saw the spirit drifting beyond her ken. "My babies!" whispered the mother. And presently she was "at rest." * * * * * Rick and Dick grew up somehow. Though motherless and fatherless they were not quite friendless, and in the struggle for existence they held their own and kept alive. A more agreeable and cheerful fellow than Dick it would have been impossible to find, according to his companions. He seemed dowered with a disposition so equable and contented that it was a pleasure to be with him: and he radiated cheerfulness like a fire. Moreover, he was in thorough harmony with his surroundings. He found fault with nothing in the structure of society, and desired no change either in laws or institutions: everything was ordered wisely, and was ordered for the best. In fact, he was the spirit of Content personified: and much patting on the back did he get for his reward. "We must give him a helping hand, must push him forward, you know," said the Community, beaming on its cheerful young champion. And Dick took the "pushing forward" with admirable self-composure, and certainly seemed to deserve all he got. As for Rick, the Community would have nothing to do with him. He was not quite an out-and-out pessimist, it was true; but he seemed to look on the Community as a most clumsily-articulated creature--a thing of shreds and patches, and the Cheap Jack of shams. He was always putting his finger on this spot or that; hinting that here there was a weakness, and there . . . something worse. Every advanced thinker, and the majority of theorists, could count on finding a sympathetic listener in him: and not infrequently they found in him an advocate also; such an arrant anti-optimist was the pestilent fellow. As if Civilization, after thousands of years of travail, had produced nothing better than a clumsy abortion with the claws of an animal and the tastes of Jack-an-ape! Why, the man must be mad, to have such irregular fancies! It was a pity laws against opinions were not oftener put in force: then--a click of the guillotine, and the world would have peace!