"There is a great chemist, and he dissolves selfishness and worldliness with a little invisible powder called love. Miss Doane brought stores of that powder with her, and scatters it over her doughnuts and her gingerbread and her cookies that she sends us, and she does it up in little packages that we can't see and slips it into our pockets when we're not looking. It has spread like a fine mist over Brookvale. And I am speaking for Brookvale, and I want to say that we are glad to have her with us, that we are glad to see her family growing up around her"—waving his hand toward the groups of children on the lawn—"and on this, her seventy-second birthday, we want you all to give three cheers for Drusilla Doane, OUR Drusilla Doane!"
And he led in the cheering that made the air resound.
Drusilla flushed and wiped her eyes, and in answer to the calls of "Speech! Speech!" she said:
"I ain't never made a speech in my life, as I hold with St. Paul that women should be seen and not heard. But—I want to say that I been happy a whole heartful since I been with you—and I want to share it—and I want you to feel that in passin' it on to others—I'm passin' on your love that you all been a-showin' me. So you'll git it all agin, as love always comes back. But—but—I can't talk—I can't tell you how I feel; I jest want in my small way to make the world a little bit glad that Elias Doane hunted up a charity home and found in it Drusilla"; and she shyly drew back into the crowd.
When she saw the people sitting at the tables drinking their tea, or walking over the beautiful lawns, her eyes looked for John. Finding him, she went up to him.
"John, let's go up on the porch off my room. I'm tired, and we can look at 'em all from there. I want to be alone with you."
They went up to the veranda and stood overlooking the happy scene. Mothers were sitting at the small tables happily watching their larger children playing under the trees. Babies were rolling on the grass, their baby prattle and laughter coming faintly to the ears of John and Drusilla. The soft afternoon sun filtered through the trees and seemed to cover them with a golden glow.
As Drusilla watched them, she slipped her hand into one of John's and leaned forward, looking up at him with a soft light in her dear old eyes.
"John," she said, "when we were young, we used to dream that we'd grow old together and see our children's children playin' round us."
She was silent for a moment. Then: