The breeze is sad, the brook is sad, this dying Indian summer day is sad.

Life itself is sad." "Oh, no.

Life is beautiful." "You are a child," said he, with a thrill in his deep voice "I hope you may always be as you are to-day, in heart, at least." "It grows late.

See, the shadows are falling.

We must go." "You know I am going away to-morrow.