"But, papa," she said, to console him, "don't you think maybe there isn't such a thing as a 'finish,' after all! You say perhaps we don't learn to live till we die but maybe that's how it is AFTER we die, too--just learning some more, the way we do here, and maybe through trouble again, even after that." "Oh, it might be," he sighed.

"I expect so." "Well, then," she said, "what's the use of talking about a 'finish ?' We do keep looking ahead to things as if they'd finish something, but when we get TO them, they don't finish anything.

They're just part of going on.

I'll tell you--I looked ahead all summer to something I was afraid of, and I said to myself, 'Well, if that happens, I'm finished!' But it wasn't so, papa.

It did happen, and nothing's finished; I'm going on, just the same only----" She stopped and blushed.
"Only what ?" he asked.
"Well----" She blushed more deeply, then jumped up, and, standing before him, caught both his hands in hers.