“I want it as much as he does,” she answered fervently. At thirty-eight Lance’s voice was, if possible, more perfect in sweetness, purity, and expression than it had been at twenty, and never had the poem, connected with all the crises of their joint lives, come more home to their hearts, filling them with aspiration as well as memory. Then Lance helped his brother up, and was surprised, after those cheerful tones, to feel the weight so prone and feeble, that Gerald’s support on the other side was welcome. Mrs. Grinstead followed to take Gertrude to her room and find her children’s photographs. The two young people began to smile as soon as they were left alone. “Did you ever see Bexley?” asked Anna. “Yes--an awful hole,” and both indulged in a merry laugh. “My mother mentions it with pious horror,” said Anna. “Life is much more interesting when it is from hand to mouth,” said Gerald, with a yawn. “If I went in for sentiment, which I don’t, it would be for Fiddler’s Ranch; though it is now a great city called Violinia, with everything like everything else everywhere.” “Not Uncle Lance.” “Certainly not. For a man with that splendid talent to bury it behind a counter, mitigated by a common church organ, is as remarkable as absurd; though he seems to thrive on it. It is a treat to see such innocent rapture, all genuine too!” “You worn-out old man!” laughed Anna. “Aunt Cherry has always said that self-abnegation is the secret of Uncle Lance’s charm.” “All very well in that generation--ces bons jours quand nous etions si miserables,” said Gerald, in his low, maundering voice. “Prosperity means the lack of object.” “Does it?” “In these days when everything is used up.” “Not to those two--” “Happy folk, never to lose the sense of achievement!” “Poor old man! You talk as if you were twenty years older than Uncle Lance.” “I sometimes think I am, and that I left my youth at Fiddler’s Ranch.” Wherewith he strolled to the piano, and began to improvise something so yearning and melancholy that Anna was not sorry when her uncle came back and mentioned the tune the old cow died of. Was Gerald, the orphan of Fiddler’s Ranch, to be always the spoilt child of prosperity and the creature of modern life, with more aspirations than he saw how to fulfil, hampered as he was by duties, scruples, and affections? CHAPTER III. -- DARBY AND JOAN My reason haply more To bandy word for word and frown for frown; But now I see our lances are but straws! SHAKESPEARE. Lancelot saw his brother’s doctors the next morning, and communicated to his wife the upshot of the interview when they were driving to their meeting in Mrs. Grinstead’s victoria, each adorned with a big bunch of primroses. “Two doctors! and not Tom,” said Gertrude.