His heart would leap with impatience at every sound. The old chimney, drawing its heated breath to keep his little body warm, had added to his irritation. It seemed to him that the wind could cut more antics then than a circus pony cavorting for his feed.
In its sound he constantly fancied he could hear the coming of that old false ideal that had been the first to fall, but it had not fallen until many a little prayer had been answered and many a young dream been realized. Such ideals leave their imprint upon the mind. The memory of the joy it gave softens and purifies the heart before it awakens.
Glenn Andrews leaned over and opened his hand to the light; it was a watch chain, made of Esther’s hair.
“That slide was on a chain my mother wore,” she said.
The sentiment of it made him feel that he stood at the white sanctity of her soul with its opening and unfathomable depths.
He raised the chain to his lips and kissed it affectionately. He could not have thanked her in words. He realized that:
“Sentiment that is real is not acquired—it flows into the veins like the breath of the sea waves, completely freshening every sense with its presence.”
Glenn took up his overcoat and brought out a music roll with her name mounted in silver.
“It is full and you are to learn it all. That’s the agreement.” He laid it open before her.
“The very hardest that you could find.”