No matter how many or great the changes, the robins still build their nests in the elm tree, and the grass still grows to cover the earth of brown with its emerald mantle; for what care the daisies and the grapes, if the hand of the reaper bids them bow before his trusty blade? The life is at their roots, and their flowers and blades will come again. So with our hearts; they are as hopeful as in the earlier days, ere we had lost sight of some of our jewels, and it is true our love has deathless roots.
Louis grows more blessed all the while. The step of my mother is slow, and father bends to bear the burden of his years, while the voice of our Fanny, who will be my sister through all time, cheers them in their daily walk, as she holds in peace the place of little house-keeper. She loves her home, and we love her. Louis and I have just been looking at the pleasant picture in our middle room, where our Emily Minot, sitting between gray hairs, holds in her lap a year-old brother (Louis), while Fanny, sitting on the old sofa, sings the song of "Gentle Annie."
Matthias, Peg and John are coming over the hill; Jane and her husband will be here soon, for I am to have a birthday supper. Ben will be with us, but Hal and Mary, with little Hal, are across the sea. They sailed last June to find "Love's Fawn," or rather strength for Mary. Aunt Hildy, "done up in marble," went with them. They will come to us in June, the month of roses; I love it best of all.
"Hope dey will; but 'pears like you's jes' gone an' done it."
It is morning again. No clouds skirt the horizon; broad, beautiful daylight beams lovingly upon us. The wind, which yesterday blew such fierce breaths, journeyed southward during the night, and returned laden with good-tempered sweetness, whispering of warmer days. We had a pleasant birthday supper, and by request I read aloud a few of the foregoing chapters. Matthias rose in terror as he listened to the recital of our united lives, and interrupted me, saying:
"De good lansake, 'fore de Lord ob Canaan! but you ain't gwine to put me down in rale printed readin', is ye?"
One would have supposed I had been reading his death warrant, or something equally portentous, as he stood before me with dilated eyes and upraised hands. I smiled at the picture and answered:
"Certainly."
"Wall," he said, in a despairing tone, "it'll jes' kill de sale ob dat book. All de res' is good nuf, but dem tings I'se said don't have no larnin' to 'em, Miss Em'ly. 'Spect de folks'll tink you's done gone crazy puttin' me down by de side ob de white lamb. It's mighty quare an' on-reasonablelike, 'tis sartin'."
"Oh, Matthias," I replied, "the people will like it!"