It was all beautiful, and I with my own hands helped to make it so. But nothing about it is very clear to me except the look in the children’s eyes—_our_ children, both of them, at last. Caro’s joy had sobered her, so that she walked the earth in radiance, instead of fluttering, light-winged, above it; but David’s joy had set him on the heights. Oh, my son, my son, child of my soul always! I could not have borne the look upon his face if I had not known Caro through and through. But now I am not afraid. Grace went the day after the wedding, and left me in a world where real and Make-Believe are blended into one. The Peon comes home early, and together we walk across the grass to the Perchery, and talk of how he wheeled me there in those sorrowful days last spring, when it seemed the knoll would never know the nest we longed to see there. And in the evening we sit in the firelight together, and hear the childish voices of long ago in the room, and childish feet in the hall. And we laugh over the good old days, and smile over the new days, which are better. And before I go to bed we go to the window and look at the children’s house, standing clear against the stars. And they come and stand beside us there, their tiny hands in ours—the dear, long-ago little children, who will be with us always, though the big children, dearer still, come and go across the grass between their home and ours. THE END * * * * * Transcriber’s Notes: Punctuation and obvious typesetting errors have been corrected without note. When variation in spelling or hyphenation occurred, majority use has been employed. [End of _In the Garden of Delight_, by Lily Hardy Hammond] End of Project Gutenberg's In the Garden of Delight, by Lily Hardy Hammond