And old Pete Harkey stepped forth and spoke slowly, while his faded old eyes looked past the open grave and rested on the hills beyond. "More than at any other time we strive to center and steady our thoughts, when we stand by the loved and dead. It is an effort as vain as to look full and steadily at the blinding sun. I can tell you no thing here which you do not know. "You all knew Adam Forbes. He was a simple and kindly man. He brought a good courage to living, he was all help and laughter, he joyed in the sting and relish of rushing life. Those of you here who were most unfriends to him will not soon forget that gay, reckless, tender-hearted creature. "You know his faults. He was given to hasty wrath, to stubbornness and violence. His hand was heavy. If there are any here who have been wronged by this dead man--as I think most like--let the memory of it be buried in this grave. It was never his way to walk blameless. He did many things amiss; he took wrong turnings. But he was never too proud to turn back, to admit a mistake or to right his wrongdoing. He paid for what he broke. "For the rest--he fed the hungry, helped the weak, he nursed the sick and dug graves for the dead. Now, in his turn, it is fitting and just that no bought hand dug this grave, but that his friends and his foes did him this last service, and called pleasant dreams to his long sleep. "We have our dear dreams, too. It can do no harm to dream that somewhere down the skies that brightness and fire and light still flames--but not for us. "It is written that upon Mars Hill the men of Athens built an altar 'to the Unknown God.' It was well builded; and with no misgiving we leave our friend to the care--and to the honor--of the Unknown God." He stood back; and from the women who wept came one who did not weep, dry-eyed and pale; whose pitying hand dropped the first earth into the grave. "Stardust to Stardust," said Edith Harkey. * * * * * That night Pete Harkey stood by the big fireplace of the big lonesome house. "Shall I light the fire, Edith?" "Not to-night, father." In the dimness he groped for a chair; he took her on his knee, her arms clung fast. "Is it well with you, Edith?" Then, in the clinging dusk she dared the truth at last; to ears that did not hear. For his thought was with the dead man. She knew it well; yet once to tell her story--only once! Her voice rang steady, prouder than any pride: "I have loved Greatheart. It is well with me." "Poor little girl," he said. "Poor little girl!" The proud head sought his breast and now her tears fell fast. * * * * * And far away, Charlie See rode south through the wizard twilight. There was no singing now. For at the world's edge some must fare alone; through all their dreams one unforgotten face--laughing, and dear, and lost. THE END TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: