The fourth of July had been set as the time for the dedication of the memorial. The event brought together a great company of dignitaries, and the governor of the state and the Secretary of War were the speakers. Mills had driven over with Leila and Thomas, and he sat with them, Millicent beside him.
Bruce hovered on the edges of the crowd, listening to comments on his work, marveling himself that it was so good. The chairman of the local committee sent for him at the conclusion of the ceremonies to introduce him to the distinguished visitors. When the throng had dispersed, Millicent, with Carroll and Leila, paused by the fountain to wait until Bruce was free.
“This is what you get, Millie, for having a famous husband,” Leila remarked. “He’s probably signing a contract for another monument!”
“There he is!” exclaimed Carroll, pointing up the slope.
Bruce and Mills were slowly pacing one of the colonnades. Beyond it lay the woodland that more than met Bruce’s expectations as a background for the memorial. They were talking earnestly, wholly unaware that they were observed. As they turned once more to retrace their steps Mills, unconsciously it seemed, laid his arm across Bruce’s shoulders; and Millicent, seeing and understanding, turned away to hide her tears.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.