He took the thought, pondered it, and his wife went on. "There's the joy of striving, of waking fresh every day to hope. Can attainment, after all, give any greater joy?"
"Perhaps not," he murmured.
"So, dear," she went on, "think of what has been done, not of what you wished for. Think what you've done for our children. You took them with you into your land of dreams, letting them share with you as far as you might, that thrill which comes to the creator."
"And, daddy," finished Suzanna, "if The Machine had gone away to stay, we couldn't have any more beautiful Saturday afternoons in the attic with you."
They remained then all very still. Peter cried out a little in his sleep. His mother, alert at once, listened, then relaxed when the cry did not come again, and then Suzanna asked, "Are you still very, very sad, daddy?"
And he answered, "The sadness has gone, Suzanna. Come another Saturday, I shall take up the work again—and some day—"
"Some day all the world will say my father is a great man," ended Suzanna, an unfaltering faith written upon her face.
And so her love, like an essence, flowed out and healed his spirit.