Many old things, no doubt, would
be changed, by the work of Deborah and her kind--but not too many, Roger
hoped. And these young people, meanwhile, would be bringing up children in
their turn. So the family would go on, and multiply and scatter wide, never
to unite again. And he thought he could catch glimpses, very small and far
away but bright as patches of sunlight upon distant mountain tops, into the
widening vista of those many lives ahead. A wistful look crept over his
face.
"In their lives too we shall be there, the dim strong figures of the past."
* * * * *
Deborah came into the room, and at once the whole atmosphere changed. Her
niece sprang up delightedly.
"Why, Auntie, how lovely you look!" she exclaimed. And Roger eyed Deborah
in surprise. Though she did not believe in mourning, she had been wearing
dark gowns of late to avoid hurting Edith's feelings. But to-night she had
donned bright colors instead; her dress was as near decollete as anything
that Deborah wore, and there was a band of dull blue velvet bound about
her hair.
"Thanks, dearie," she said, smiling. "Shall we go in to dinner now?" she
added to her father. "Edith said not to wait for her--and I'll have to be
off rather early this evening."
"What is it to-night?" he inquired.
"A big meeting at Cooper Union."
And at dinner she went on to say that in her five schools the neighborhood
clubs had combined to hold this meeting, and she herself was to preside.
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