After a glance at our faces, he added: “I ain't afraid. It's all goin' t' be fair an' square. If we couldn't meet them we loved, an' do fer 'em, it wouldn't be honest. We'd all feel as if we'd been kind o' cheated. Suthin' has always said to me: 'Eb Holden, when ye git through here yer goin' t' meet them ye love.' Who do ye s'pose it was that spoke t' me? I couldn't tell ye, but somebody said it, an' whoever 'tis He says the same thing to most ev'ry one in the world.” “It was the voice of Nature,” I suggested. “Call it God er Natur' er what ye 8068 please—fact is it's built into us an' is a part of us jest as the beams are a part o' this house. I don't b'lieve it was put there fer nuthin. An' it wa'n'. put there t' make fools of us nuther. I tell ye, Bill, this givin' life fer death ain't no hoss-trade. If ye give good value, ye're goin' to git good value, an' what folks hev been led to hope an' pray fer since Love come into the world, they're goin' to have—sure.” He went to Hope and put a tiny locket in her hand. Beneath its panel lay a ringlet of hair, golden-brown. “It was give to me,” he said, as he stood looking down at her. “Them little threads o' gold is kind o' wove all into my life. Sixty year ago I begun to spin my hope with 'em. It's grow-in' stronger an' stronger. It ain't 8069 possible that Natur' has been a foolin' me all this time.” After a little silence, he said to Hope: “I want you to have it.” Her pleasure delighted him, and his face glowed with tender feeling. Slowly he left us. The candle trembled in his hand, and flickering shadows fell upon us. He stopped in the open door. We knew well what thought was in his mind as he whispered back to us: “Merry Chris'mas—ev'ry year.” Soon I went to his room. The door was open. He had drawn off his boots and was sitting on the side of his bed. I did not enter or speak to him, as I had planned to do; for I saw him leaning forward on his elbows and wiping his eyes, and I heard him saying to himself: 8070 “Eb Holden, you oughter be 'shamed, I declare. Merry Chris'mas! I tell ye. Hold up yer head.” I returned to Hope, and we sat long looking into the firelight. Youth and its grace and color were gone from us, yet I saw in her that beauty “which maketh the face to shine.” Our love lay as a road before and behind us. Long ago it had left the enchanted gardens and had led us far, and was now entering the City of Faith and we could see its splendor against the cloud of mystery beyond. Our souls sought each other in the silence and were filled with awe as they looked ahead of them and, at last, I understood the love of a man for a woman. THE END End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eben Holden's Last Day A-Fishing, by Irving Bacheller