"You're not cold?" asked the senator solicitously; but she shook her head and answered:—
"You've seen foreign countries, ain't you?"
"Yes. I've seen India and I've seen the Pyramids. I thought about you those times, Bina—how we recited together in geography; and I was the one that went and you were the one to stay at home. But near as I can make out, you've carried the world on your shoulders down here, while I've tried to do the same thing somewhere else—and not so well, Bina—not so well."
Her sweet face clouded. She was jealous of even a hint of failure for him.
"But you've come out pretty fair?" she hesitated anxiously.
"Pretty fair, Bina. It's been a good old world. I've enjoyed it, and I don't know as I shall want to leave it. But now I feel as if I were working for the next generation. The little I've done I can pass over to my son, and I hope he'll do more."
He laid his hand on the garnered sweets beside him. The herbs were uppermost. "Spearmint!" he said. Sabrina nodded, and he ate a leaf. Then one after another he took up the herbs, southernwood and all, and bruised them to get their separate fragrance. It was a keen pleasure to him, and Sabrina saw it and blessed Clelia in her heart. Presently he sat back in his chair and regarded her musingly. A softened look came into his eyes. A smile, all sweetness, overspread his face. It gave him his boyhood's mien.
"I'll tell you what, Bina," he said, "in that first rough-and-tumble before I made my way, you did me a lot of good."
Sabrina lay and looked at him. Even her eyes had a still solemnity.
"You wrote me a little note."