Their years were nearly spent, it is true. His hair was silvery white and his form was bent and trembling. Her cheeks were like the drying petals of a rose and her once brown hair was as white as his. But the vigor and strength and life of their years lived still--gloriously increased in the lives that they had given to the race. Gone were the years of their manhood and womanhood--even as the days of their boyhood and girlhood--they were gone. But, as the boy and the girl had lived in the man and the woman, the man and the woman lived, now, in their boys and girls and in the children of their children. And this was the true glory and the fulfillment of their lives--that they could live thus in their children--that they could see themselves renewed in their children and in their children's children. So it was that Memories became to this man and this woman, also, one of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life. There are many things that might be told about this man and woman--about the work they did, the place they held in life, and the rewards and honors they received--but I have put down all that, at the end, seemed of any importance to them. Therefore have I put down all that matters to my story. What matters to them and to my story is this: always, as they went back into the Yesterdays, they went back to the days of their childhood and to the days of their children. They went back only to _Their_ Yesterdays. To those other days--those days when they were strangers--they did not go back. THE END.