“So you see, though mother had these periods of loneliness and trial, _we_ are reaping their harvest; and I am sure she is glad of it.” “Grandfather was a strange ‘mixture of the elements’; so shrewd and worldly-wise, and yet so romantic.” “You may add sentiment to the romance. When he first entered Castle Murray he saw it exactly as it had been left. No one had touched anything. The old chief’s chair, as he pushed it from the table when he had eaten his last meal in the home he was leaving, remained just at the angle taken; a half-bottle of usquebaugh and an unbroken glass stood on the bare oak table. The dust of generations lay an inch thick, and on the hearthstone were a few remnants of half-burnt wood. These remnants your grandfather carefully gathered, and when the first fire in the Bowling Green house was lit they kindled it. But no one who ever saw Leonard Murray buying or selling land would have dreamed that he had room in his heart for a bit of sentiment like that.” “I have heard him called a shrewd, hard man.” “I know. Listen again. You have complained of the superabundance of white roses at our old country home up the river?” “Well, mother, they are absurdly out of proportion. They cover walls and fences and over-run the garden, and ought to give place, in part, to other flowers.” “Not while I live. My mother and father carefully reared the first growth from the seeds of one white rose, which in some way was vitally connected with their love. There was a quarrel, and my mother rejected the rose; and father kept it, and then after they were married they planted the seed, and watched and nourished it, until it became a tree bearing white roses. From slips of that tree the garden has been garlanded with roses. I do not wish it changed, until you have put the last earthly rose in my cold hands.” “Dear mother! Dear mother!” They talked over these incidents until Gerard returned; and then as they took some slight refreshment together fell into speculations concerning the past and present Bowling Green. Gerard was sympathetic with its past, but enthusiastic as to its future. And when Mrs. Bloommaert spoke feelingly of the dignified men who in early days had been the familiar figures on its pleasant sidewalks, Gerard answered: “Dear auntie, these dignified old merchants in breeches and beavers and fine lawn ruffles have most worthy successors in the clean-shaved men of to-day, sensibly clothed from their soft hats to their comfortably low-cut shoes. Would it not be delightful to show some of these old, dignified merchants over the new Bowling Green? Take them through Nassau Street and way up Broadway? I think they would need all the training they have been having since they died to bear it.” “You ought not to speak so lightly of the future life, Gerard.” “Auntie, your pardon! But do you think that only the incarnated improve? May not the de-incarnated be progressing also?”