smiling at him with wet eyes. "Yes, Gaspard?"
"No, madame, I thank you. I am better with a bone in my fingers, and my thoughts. I shall play my fiddle. The day will pass."
Latham's hand was on the door. "So the trees sang like the sea?" he said, smiling, for one friendly word the more.
"Yes, m'sieu', like a miracle."
"You believe in miracles, Gaspard?"
"Assuredly, madame."
"What is your idea of a miracle, Gaspard?"
"It is something that does not happen every day."
"Yet it may happen?"
"Oh yes, madame! It does."
Then the man and his wife went out across the lake to find the child.
Renewal
THESE sounds sonorous rolling!—
These vibrant tones and clear!
Listen! The bells are tolling
The requiem of the year:
The year that dies, as mute it lies
Midst fallen leaves and sere!
Now by the fading embers
That on earth's hearthstone glow,
How sadly one remembers
The things of long ago:
The wistful things, with flame-bright wings,
That vanished long ago!
The self-effacing sorrow.
The generous desire.
The pledges for the morrow.
Enkindled at this fire!—
Enkindled here, O dying year!
Where smoulders low thy pyre.
What hope and what ambition.
What dreams beyond recall!
Look we for their fruition.
To find them ashes all?
Is life the wraith of love—of faith?
Then let the darkness fall!
The sparks—how fast they dwindle!
How faint their being glows!
Quickly! the fire rekindle—
Ah, quickly! e'er it goes!
Woo living breath from the lips of death!—
From ashes bring the rose!
••••••
Kind God! The bells, in gladness!
The rose of hope hath bloomed!
For, consecrating sadness.
Life hath its own resumed,
And welcomes here the new-born year—
A phœnix, unconsumed!
