Their Yesterdays Part 16

After that, they spent many days together in the scenes of their childhood; living over again, so far as man and woman may, their Yesterdays. And so cane, at last, the day that was forever after, to them, _the_ day of all their days.

It was in the afternoon and they were together down by the little brook, in the shade of the willows, where the stream, running lazily under the patches of light and shade, murmured drowsily--seeming more than half asleep. She was weaving an old time daisy chain from a great armful that he had helped her gather on their way to the cool retreat.

A bit of fancy work that she had brought from the house lay neglected near his hat, which the man, boy like, had cast aside. He was industriously fishing for minnows, with a slender twig of willow for a rod, a line of thread from her sewing, and a pin, that she had found for him, fashioned into a hook. With a pointed stick he had dug among the roots of the old tree for bait--securing one, tiny, thin, worm and rejoicing gleefully at his success. For a long time neither had said a word; but the woman, her white fingers busy with the daisies in her lap, had several times looked up from her pretty task to smile at the man who was so intensely and seriously interested in his childish sport.

"Gee! I nearly got one that time!" He exclaimed with boyish triumph and disappointment in his voice.

The woman laughed merrily. "One would think," she said, "that your fame in life depended upon your catching one of those poor little fish. What do you suppose your dear, devoted, public would say if they could see you now?"

The man grunted his disapproval. "I came out here to get away from said public," he retorted. "Why do you drag 'em into our paradise?"

At his words, a warm color crept into the woman's face, and, bending low over the daisies in her lap, she did not answer.

Lifting the improvised fishing tackle of his childhood and looking at it critically the man said: "I suppose, now, that if this rod were a split bamboo, and this thread were braided silk, and this pin with its wiggly piece of worm were a "Silver Doctor" or a "Queen of the Waters"

or a "Dusty Miller" or a "Brown Hackle"; and if this stream were an educated stream, with educated trout; and the house up there were a club house; and your dear old aunt, who is watching to see that I don't eat you, were a lot of whist playing old men; I suppose you would think it all right and a proper sport for a man. But for me--I can't see much difference--except that, just now--" he carefully lowered his hook into the water--"just now, I prefer this. In fact,"

he added meditatively, "I would rather do this than anything else in the world."

The color in the woman's face deepened.

After a little, he looked cautiously around to see her bending over the daisy chain. A moment later, under pretense of examining his bait, he stole another look. Then, in spite of his declaration, he abandoned his sport to stretch himself full length on the ground at her side.

She did not look at him but bent her head low over the wealth of white and gold blossoms in her lap; and the man noticed, with an odd feeling of pleasure, the beautiful curve of her white neck from the soft brown hair to the edge of her dress low on the shoulder. Then, with a sly smile, as the boy of their Yesterdays might have done, he stealthily raised the slender willow twig and with the tip cautiously attempted to lift the thin golden chain that she always wore loosely about her throat with the locket or pendant concealed by her dress.

She clutched the chain with a frightened gesture and a little exclamation. "You must not--you must not do that."

The man laughed aloud as the mischievous boy would have laughed.

But the woman, with flaming cheeks, caught the twig from his hand and threw it into the creek. "If you are not good, I shall call auntie,"

she threatened.

At which he looked ruefully toward the porch and became very serious.

"Do you know that I am going away to-morrow?" he asked.

"And leave your paradise for your dear public?" she said mockingly.

"The public will be glad."

"And you, will you care?"

"I'm going back to my work, too, next week," she replied.

"But will you care to-morrow?" he persisted.

The woman's fingers, busy with the daisy chain, trembled.

The man, when she still did not answer his question, arose and, picking up his hat and her sewing, held out his hand.

She looked up into his face questioningly.

"Come"--he said with a grave smile--"come."

Still without speaking, she gave him her hand and he helped her to her feet; and, at her touch, the man again felt that thrill of pleasure.

The aunt, from her place on the porch, saw them coming up the gra.s.sy slope, through the daisies, toward the house. She saw them coming and smiled--as the neighbor had smiled, so she smiled, apparently, at nothing at all.

But the man and the woman did not go to the porch where the old lady sat. With a wave of their hands, they pa.s.sed from her sight around the house, and, a few minutes later, stood face to face in that quiet, secluded, corner of the garden, under the old cherry tree, close by the hedge.

"Now," said the man gently, "now tell me--will you be sorry to have me go away to-morrow?"

She made no pretense that she did not understand, Nor did she hesitate as one in doubt. Lifting her head, proudly, humbly, graciously, she looked at him and, in that look, surrendered to him, without reserve, all the treasures of her womanhood that, with such care, she had kept against that hour. And her face was shining with the light that only a woman's mate can kindle.

The man caught his breath. "My wife," he said. "My wife,"

A few moments later he whispered: "Tell me again--I know that you have always belonged to me and I to you--but tell me again--you will--you will--be my wife?"

Releasing herself gently, she lifted her hands and, unfastening that slender chain of gold from around her throat, with rosy cheeks and happy, tender, eyes, held out to him a tiny bra.s.s ring.

So the Yesterdays of the man and the Yesterdays of the woman became Their Yesterdays.

All that Dreams, Occupation, Knowledge, Ignorance, Religion, Tradition, Temptation, Life, Death, Failure, Success, Love and Memories had given him, this man who knew that he was a man, gave to her. All that the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life had given her, this woman who knew herself to be a woman, gave to him. And thus these two became one. As G.o.d made them one, they became one.

And this is the love that I say, is one of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life.

But my story is not yet quite finished for still, you must know, there are Memories.

MEMORIES

And the years of the man and the woman pa.s.sed until all their days were Yesterdays.

Even as they had, together, crossed the threshold of the old, old, door that has stood open since the beginning, they stood now, together, upon the threshold of another door that has never been closed.

And it was so, that, as once they went back into the Yesterdays that became Their Yesterdays, so they still went back to the days that were past. It was so, that the things of their manhood and womanhood had become to them, now, even as the things of their childhood. They knew, now, that, indeed, the work of men is but the play of children, after all.

Their years were nearly spent, it is true. His hair was silvery white and his form was bent and trembling. Her cheeks were like the drying petals of a rose and her once brown hair was as white as his. But the vigor and strength and life of their years lived still--gloriously increased in the lives that they had given to the race.

Gone were the years of their manhood and womanhood--even as the days of their boyhood and girlhood--they were gone. But, as the boy and the girl had lived in the man and the woman, the man and the woman lived, now, in their boys and girls and in the children of their children.

And this was the true glory and the fulfillment of their lives--that they could live thus in their children--that they could see themselves renewed in their children and in their children's children.

So it was that Memories became to this man and this woman, also, one of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life.

There are many things that might be told about this man and woman--about the work they did, the place they held in life, and the rewards and honors they received--but I have put down all that, at the end, seemed of any importance to them. Therefore have I put down all that matters to my story.

What matters to them and to my story is this: always, as they went back into the Yesterdays, they went back to the days of their childhood and to the days of their children. They went back only to _Their_ Yesterdays. To those other days--those days when they were strangers--they did not go back.