But when the children gaze up at you with their shining eyes and their parted lips,--the smiles just longing to be smiled and the tear-drops just waiting to glisten,--I don't know what there is about it, but it makes you wish you could go on forever and never break the spell.

And it makes you tremble, too, for fear you should say anything wrong.

You seem so close to children when you are telling them stories; just as if a little, little silken thread spun itself out from one side of your heart through each of theirs, until it came back to be fastened in your own again; and it holds so tight, so tight, when you have done your best and the children are pleased and grateful." For days after this discussion Polly felt as if she were dwelling on a mysterious height from which she could see all the kingdoms of the earth.

She said little and thought much (oh, that this should come to be written of Polly Oliver!).

The past which she had regretted with such passionate fervor still fought for a place among present plans and future hopes.