He went out, shutting the door softly behind him. Ghosts followed him as he climbed up the open road; then they melted away in the warm sunlight.
He was soon going home. His father’s “dazzling” business proposition had been enthusiastically received by the younger Gonzolas—but the “old gentleman” remained obdurate. The boy must accept his conditions. Floyd had written to Joseph, advising him to “give in while the old man lived.” But Joseph refused to make any concession; Ruth wouldn’t let him.
He strolled along, his knapsack on his back, his hat and cape in his belt, a handsome young student; one meets them often in the mountains—fine happy lads, their only wealth, the Future. He knelt down by a stream, caught the falling water in his hands, and drank it; then he poetized.
Spring dances in the mountains.
Winter’s young daughter, peeps at her
Sweet face in the Lake mirror.
The old Snow-man growls;
His blanket is thin, his feet stick out;
They are warm, he is melting.
He flies to the heights, in his