But is he then alone? Hush! The squirrels have grown still, and even the oak is silent. What is that opposite, across the table, at the seat long years held only by the elder of these two? Tell me, Singing Mouse, is it not true that I see there, sitting as of old at the table, the same sturdy form, the same simple, innocent and believing face? It is the gray ghost of one grown gray in goodness. It is the shadow of a shadow, the apparition of a soul! The one at the table pauses, as was the wont before the beginning of a meal. He looks across the table to the shadow, as if the shadow were his friend. The shadow bows its head. The living man bows also his head at the board. The shadow moves its lips. Doubt not those words are heard this day. See, the sun rises through the trees. The glorious day sets on once more. Doubt not, fear not, sorrow not, ye two. Bow the head still, ye two, and let not my picture perish. Whisper again the benediction of the years, and let me hear once more the murmur of the oak's Amen! [Illustration] [Illustration: The Birth of the Hours] [Illustration] THE BIRTH OF THE HOURS "Do you know the story of the Wedding of the Times?" said the Singing Mouse. "You know, all life is a wedding. The flowers love, and the grasses, and the trees; and the circle of the wedding ring is the circle of life and the sign of eternity. Death and life, not life and then death, is the order and the law. "The hours are born of parents, as are the flowers. The hours of the day are born of the wedding of Night and Morning. It is the way of Life. Come with me." So with the Singing Mouse I went into a place where I was once long before. I could see it very well. It was in the deep woods, far away. Near by there were tall, sweet grasses. I could hear the faint tinkle of a falling stream. Other than that, it was silent in the deep woods. Overhead the sky was clear and filled with stars. The stars trembled and twinkled and shone radiantly fair. So now all at once I knew they were the jewels on the veil of Night. And the far shadows were the drapery of the Night, and the greater light of the heavens was the star upon her coronal. When I first looked forth, the Night was a babe, but as I gazed it grew. The Night is full of change and charm. Those who live within the walls do not see these things. When I saw them, I could not sleep, for the Night in all her changes seemed to speak. The Night grew older, drawing about her her more ornate garb of witchery. Across her bosom fell a wondrous tissue, trembling with exuberance of unprismed light. These were the gems in thousands of the skies, all fair against the blackness of the robes of Night, and I knew that the blackness of the one was as lovely as the radiance of the other. Nor could one separate one from the other, for there arose a thin mist of light, so that one saw form or features only dimly, as through a cloth of silver lace, such as the spiders weave upon a morning.