THE TWILIGHT GUESTS
"And he lies there now," said the stranger.
"Yes," said the old man softly, "he lies there now. Under the apple tree where he lay and laughed that day, he lies there now. For Rachel wanted it so. 'I carried him out there the first time,' she said, 'and he always loved it there. I used to walk there before he came, and plan for him, how he should grow so great and famous and good; and now I want him to be there, while he is asleep. And I think that all the fields are God's—the orchard as well as the graveyard.' So we laid him there, and she goes there often, and I."
"You miss her?" said the stranger.
"Miss her?" said the old man, staring at the visitor, "miss her? Why, she is here! She is my wife!" but he was alone, on the couch, with the faint breath of ripening apples dying on the air.
And as he turned wearily, the shadow crept softly and covered the porch and the couch where he lay. The sun dropped behind the hills and the air struck cold on his uncovered shoulders. He was too tired to cry, too old and weak to question or
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