Eloise bit her lips and did not answer.
"Is it?" he asked, authoritatively.
"A little," she whispered. "This is so sweet, and sometimes I'm afraid——"
"Darling! Darling!" he said, drawing her closer. "You make me ashamed of my fellowmen when you say that. But do you want the year to stand still always at June?"
"No," she answered. "I'm willing to grow with Love, from all the promise of Spring into the harvest and even into Winter, as long as the sweetness is there. Don't you understand, Allan? Who would wish for June when Indian Summer fills all the silences with shimmering amethystine haze? And who would give up a keen, crisp Winter day, when the air sets the blood to tingling, for apple blossoms or even roses? It's not that—I only want the sweetness to stay."
"Please God, it shall," returned Allan, solemnly. He was profoundly moved.
Bank of Life
"It shouldn't be so hard to keep it," went on Eloise, thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about it a good deal, lately. Life will give us back whatever we put into it. In a way, it's just like a bank. Put joy into the world and it will come back to you with compound interest, but you can't check out either money or happiness when you have made no deposits."
"Very true," he responded. "I never thought of it in just that way before."
"If you put joy in, and love, unselfishness, and a little laughter, and perfect faith—I think they'll all come back, some day."