"And all," he went on, "is thanks to you."
Again there was a long silence! And then there came a sudden frightened whisper from her: "Dick—do you think we shall ever see—him—again?"
He laughed bitterly. "No, dear. He is too vain, too selfish, too fond of his own safety. Besides—what matter if we did. He belongs to the things that we have forgotten."
Then they turned, laughing into the house, and their voices gradually died from my hearing.
It seemed to me, as I nipped the dead leaves from my geraniums, that to these young neighbors of mine Happiness was showing a smiling face. And whether they had deserved that or no, I wish it may be so always, to the end.
FINIS
[PROLOGUE]
[CHAPTER I]
[CHAPTER II]
[CHAPTER III]
[CHAPTER IV]
[CHAPTER V]
[CHAPTER VI]
[CHAPTER VII]
[CHAPTER VIII]
[CHAPTER IX]
[CHAPTER X]
[CHAPTER XI]
[CHAPTER XII]
[CHAPTER XIII]
[CHAPTER XIV]
[CHAPTER XV]
[CHAPTER XVI]
[CHAPTER XVII]
[CHAPTER XVIII]
[EPILOGUE]