"
"We will, father!" shouted a chorus of voices, which was music to his
ears.
With a fond embrace to each, he left them. Slowly he walked down
the winding path which led from his home. He heard the voices of his
children on the air long after he entered the highway--voices which he
might not hear, perchance, for many months. Sweeter than music to his
soul were those sounds floating on the summer air. Over the hill and
dale he rode till night came on, and then, before reposing, he lifted his
soul to heaven for blessings on his household.
With the sun he arose and pursued his journey. The summer days
went down into autumn; the emerald leaves changed their hues for gold
and scarlet; ripe fruits hung in ruby and yellow clusters from their
strong boughs; while over the rocks, crimson vines were trailing. Slowly
the tints of autumn faded. Soon the white frosts lay on the meadows
like snow-sheets; the days were shorter and the air more crisp and chill.
Around the evening fire the household of the absent parent began to
gather. While summer's beauties abounded they had not missed him so
much, but now they talked each to the other, and grew strangely restless
at his long delay.
"Did he not tell us," said the eldest, "that sickness or accident might
delay him?"
"But he sends us no word, no sign, to make us at rest."
"The roads may not be passable," replied the brother, whose faith as
yet was not dimmed.
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