WHEN HEARTS 
 ARE YOUNG 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 #^ 
 
 BY 
 WIlLiAM GARY SANGER, Jt 
 
WHEN HEARTS ARE YOUNG 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY 
 WILLIAM GARY SANGER, JR. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 VERSE 
 
 TIDES OF COMMERCE 
 THE CITY OF TOIL AND DREAMS 
 WITH THE ARMIES OF FRANCE 
 IN THE LAND OF THE HARVEST 
 SPRINGTIME AND THE HARBOR 
 
 WAITERS PURVIS. PRINT. UTICA. N Y 
 
^^ :-^ 
 
 ^^: ,ov^ 
 
 v^^^'^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1921 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM GARY SANGER, JR. 
 
 APR -'; i921 
 
 C1A612587 
 
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 
 
 TO MY BROTHER 
 
 RICHARD HARLAKENDEN SANGER 
 
WHEN HEARTS ARE YOUNG 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
WHEN HEARTS ARE YOUNG 
 
 If one should ask any art critic to name the ten 
 most promising and gifted artists in America, it is 
 almost certain that James Benton Norwood's name 
 would be among the first of tliose mentioned. Not 
 the least among his works of art are his paintings 
 of children, and some critics even go so far as to 
 sa5'^ that in this field he is without an equal. But his 
 works include a variety of subjects, and his portraits 
 as well as his landscapes and paintings of ocean 
 scenes have w^on for him high recognition among 
 connoisseurs and public alike. 
 
 All this is merely introductory, for w^hat the 
 reader will be chiefly interest in is the story of how 
 he happened to paint his latest and greatest picture 
 w^hich has aroused so much enthusiastic comment 
 everywhere. Almost everyone has seen reproduc- 
 tions of the original in new^spapers and magazines, 
 and it is hardly necessary to mention the title of 
 this now famous w^ork which Mr. Norwood appro- 
 priately called "When Hearts Are Young." 
 
 I was dining with a friend of mine the other 
 evening, who is one of Mr. Norwood's school and 
 college chums, and he told me how the great paint- 
 ing happened to come into existence. I asked my 
 friend if he v/ould object to having the story printed, 
 and he said he would be very glad to have it pub- 
 lished, for he was sure it would be of interest to 
 
 — 9 — 
 
WHEN HEARTS ARE YOUNG 
 
 the public, and as Norwood was so modest and 
 unassuming himself, it was really up to his friends 
 to do most of his advertising for him, although he 
 w^as really not much in need of advertising, for the 
 great excellence of his w^orks and their power to 
 touch the hearts of all w^ho saw them had already 
 won for him a lasting place in the affection and 
 admiration of the public. 
 
 To return then to the main theme of the painting, 
 it all happened as follows: 
 
 Mr. Norwood was spending a month or two at 
 his little cottage by the sea on the Massachusetts 
 coast, north of the city of Boston. Although his 
 portraits and paintings had been much admired, he 
 felt somehow^ that he could do even better work, 
 and he longed to paint some really great picture 
 that w^ould be truly expressive of his hopes and of 
 his ideals. Various thoughts occurred to him, but 
 he did not seem to be quite satisfied with them. 
 One lazy summer afternoon he was out strolling 
 along the seashore. The water was blue as the skies 
 above, and with the sands and rocks and the green 
 w^ooded shores, presented a picture of unusual 
 beauty and charm. Mr. Norwood sat down and 
 prepared to enjoy half an hour or so of contempla- 
 tion, reverie and dreaming. 
 
 Just then a little child came into view, strolling 
 along the beach with a brightly painted little tin 
 pail and a toy shovel to match. The boy was about 
 five or six years old and w^as well dressed. He had 
 evidently wandered off a little way from his nurse 
 
 — 10 — 
 
WHEN HEARTS ARE YOUNG 
 
 and was exploring the beach to see what he could 
 find. The child paused a short distance in front of 
 the artist and just then another little boy of about 
 the same age, but clad in rags, appeared from the 
 opposite direction. Each seemed delighted to find 
 a companion, and they were soon wading and play- 
 ing about on the sands and in the beach pools. 
 
 How gloriously happy they seemed and how 
 genuine and refreshing that comradeship of youth 
 which they enjoyed without a thought or care to 
 trouble their young hearts. As Mr. Norwood 
 watched their games and explorations he knew that 
 now, at last, he had found a subject for his new 
 painting. Why did not grown-ups take lessons from 
 the children and forget the differences and the 
 hatreds that so often cloud their hearts. 
 
 And so that very day the artist started work upon 
 his latest canvas, and, as the picture grew^ in beauty 
 and in wonder there before him, he knew that God 
 had answered all his prayers and all his dreams. 
 
 September 24, 1920. 
 
 II — 
 
THE GREAT TIDES 
 
 To say that Norris Templeton was a sculptor 
 would be only a partial description of his artistic 
 attainments. For he was an artist and a musician 
 as well and a lover of the beautiful in all its forms. 
 But he had devoted by far the greater part of his 
 time to the first-named art, and it was in this field 
 that he sought chiefly to create those works of 
 beauty which his soul sought so earnestly and so 
 ardently to express. 
 
 It was one of his great desires to picture the 
 romance of the life which he saw^ about him on 
 every side. Many of the things which most people 
 considered prosaic and dull and utterly without 
 beauty seemed to him to be endowed with a wealth 
 of love and beauty almost past believing, and often 
 in his prayers he had asked God to give him vision 
 and power to reveal to humanity the wonder and 
 the romance of the people and the things he saw 
 and loved so well. 
 
 Though still a young man, he had already won 
 considerable recognition and several of his statues 
 had been awarded prizes in art exhibits and exposi- 
 tions. One of these was called "The Shop Girl" 
 and another "The Laborer," while a third was en- 
 titled "The Tides" and was a bas-relief of the harbor 
 with its towering buildings in the background just 
 seeming to emerge from the mists of early dawn, 
 
 — 12 — 
 
THE GREAT TI DES 
 
 It was his special desire to touch the hearts and 
 souls of human kind, for he considered it to be the 
 privilege and the duty of a sculptor to be a teacher 
 and a leader of thought, as well as a creator of art. 
 And he realized well that the surest and most lasting 
 way of helping people to think and live in terms of 
 love and truth and beauty was to touch their hearts. 
 
 One warm spring evening Norris and a friend of 
 his were sitting on a bench in Central Park, talking 
 of their school days and of their hopes and dreams 
 for the future. The sunset lights were just beginning 
 to glow and the air seemed balmy and fragrant with 
 the magic of springtime. The glorious pink and 
 golden tints in the heavens were reflected on the 
 waters of the nearby pond, and even the great hotels 
 that bordered the park on Fifth Avenue and Fifty- 
 ninth Street seemed warmed and glorious in the 
 mellow^ light. 
 
 "I'll tell you what you ought to do," said his 
 companion; "you ought to compete for the prize 
 Mr. Reginald has offered. You've probably heard 
 he's going to present a group of statuary to one of 
 the towns somewhere up in Massachusetts. He's 
 get a fine country estate up there and lots of other 
 prominent men have places nearby. The group of 
 statuary is to be called 'Abundance,' and is to be a 
 sort of glorification of the Harvest Home idea, with 
 all the wheat and crops gathered in from the fields 
 and everybody rejoicing and happy. It's a great 
 chance for you, Norry, for I know you'd win the 
 prize and it would mean lots of publicity for you, 
 
 — 13 — 
 
THE GREAT TIDES 
 
 with photos of your group in every fashion maga- 
 zine from coast to coast." 
 
 For a moment Norris was silent. Then he said : 
 "Arty, old man, I've thought of competing for 
 that group, but the more 1 think it over the more 
 I'm convinced that I'd rather do something else. 
 Somehow I don't think I'd feel quite happy making 
 a group called 'Abundance' when I know^ there are 
 so many people who don't have any share in that 
 prosperity. I'd rather make a statue that w^ould 
 appeal to those who have great possessions so that 
 they could understand and help those who have 
 not. You see, Arty, it's not publicity that I want, 
 nor even fame; it's a chance to serve — to be the 
 servant of those who are in need." 
 
 "You're right, Norry, you're right," said his com- 
 panion, "though God knows there are mighty few 
 men would look at it the way you do. I see you 
 haven't changed a bit since school days. Still the 
 same impossible sort of a dreamer. But the world 
 needs men like you, Norry, even if you are rather 
 impractical sometimes. And that reminds me: I 
 was talking to Burt the other day — you know he 
 made that bust of Mrs. Mortimer-Kendall that she 
 admired so much, and he got no end of publicity 
 out of that, and now he's been asked to make busts 
 of at least half a dozen other society ladies. He's 
 really quite successful and is being talked of and 
 praised here and in Europe as well. Now, don't 
 get angry, Norry, old top, you know I'm not criti< 
 cising you for sculpturing the things you do, but 1 
 
 — 14 — 
 
THE GREAT TIDES 
 
 just have to keep you down to earth once in awhila 
 for if I didn't you'd get to be so visionary and so 
 impractical that heaven only knows what would 
 become of you. You see I'm not asking you to 
 decide right here and now^ whether you'll compete 
 for Reginald's group, only I hope you'll think it 
 over seriously and when you see me next time let 
 me know w^hat you decide." 
 
 Norris agreed to think it over, and after talking 
 about old times for an hour or so the two bade 
 each other good-night and went their separate ways. 
 
 The following day was one of those misty and 
 fragrant spring days when all earthly things seem to 
 be "in tune w^ith the Infinite. " In the pale blue sky 
 were a few^ filmy clouds, while the horizons w^ere 
 misty with silver-gold light. It was on such days as 
 this that Norris loved to roam — to wander here 
 and there and anywhere about the city or the coun- 
 tryside. These rambles always seemed to refresh 
 him and to reawaken in him all his boyhood hopes 
 and longings, and so, as was his custom, he set out 
 once more to wander about the city and to dream of 
 those eternal things that make the heart grow young. 
 
 He started out in the direction of the Hudson 
 River and took one of the railroad ferry boats. The 
 salt sea air and the familiar sights and sounds of 
 the tide and the harbor brought gladness into his 
 heart. In the pale silver distance the boats on the 
 river seemed to disappear and to emerge from the 
 faint mist, while the vague outlines of the great 
 office buildings loomed up into the dreamy azure 
 blue. On such occasions Norry's heart and soul 
 would seem to him to be part of the infinite soul 
 — 15 — 
 
THE GREAT TIDES 
 
 of love and life that gives to heaven and to earth 
 its rainbow lights of tenderness and glory. He 
 would feel, as it were, that he was afloat upon those 
 great tides of eternity that bear the angels onward 
 in their courses. And he believed that somehow 
 those great tides of destiny would bear him onward 
 through the uncertainties and the shadow^s to the 
 fulfillment of his dreams of service to those who 
 ■were in need. 
 
 Norris was to dine with his friend Arty that eve- 
 ning, and his thoughts went back to their conversa- 
 tion about his sculpturing. And just then a little 
 group of children came strolling up the deck of the 
 boat. There were three or four of them, the young- 
 est perhaps five years old and the eldest about ten. 
 They were quite poor. One of the little girls was 
 holding a forlorn rag doll in her arms and the 
 smallest boy was dragging a little tin locomotive 
 with one wheel oft. As Norris looked at the little 
 group he thought of his sculpturing and of his early 
 hopes and ideals and all doubt and uncertainty now^ 
 vanished from his mind. 
 
 That evening he told Arty of his decision and 
 his pal agreed with him that he w^as right. 
 
 "I knew you'd decide not to compete for Regin- 
 ald's group, Norry, and the more I think it over 
 the more 1 believe that your work will be far better 
 and far more lasting than if you turned aside from 
 your early dreams to gather in a little temporary 
 publicity. What the world needs is more beauty 
 and truth and love — and, Norry, those qualities 
 are eternal. " 
 
 September, 1920. 
 
 — 16 — 
 
IN THE HANDS OF THE ANGELS 
 
 "A remarkable man,' said Mr. Stanton, "and, 
 take my word for it, his ideals and his work will 
 live. He is without doubt one of the great men of 
 our age and generation." 
 
 Mr. Stanton, the publisher, settled himself com- 
 fortably in one of the large verandah chairs and 
 looked out across the lawn to the blue waters of 
 Long Island Sound. His friend, Mr. Atkinson, 
 paused for a moment, and then replied: 
 
 "Yes, indeed, and the world will miss him now 
 that he's gone." 
 
 Mr. Thomas Arthur Stanton, owner of the famous 
 publishing house of Stanton & Company, was pre- 
 paring to publish a complete edition of the writings 
 of the late poet and author, Delancy Warrington. 
 Mr. Stanton had been one of Warrington's best 
 friends, and had been greatly saddened by the 
 author's death. 
 
 The publisher was spending the week-end at his 
 country place on the Sound. He was an old man 
 new, well over seventy years of age, and Mr. Atkin- 
 son was also well on in years. Warrington had 
 passed his eightieth birthday ■when he died, but his 
 optimistic and youthful outlook upon life had made 
 him seem somewhat younger. During the course 
 of his life he had written many volumes in which 
 his love of humanity and his kindly philosophy 
 
 — 17 — 
 
IN THE HANDS OF THE ANGELS 
 
 found abundant opportunity for expression. 
 
 "You know," said Mr. Stanton to his friend, "one 
 of the most beautiful characteristics of Warrington 
 was his faith in spiritual guidance and power. He 
 firmly believed that angels were actively present to 
 help all human beings, and he attributed whatever 
 success he had with his writings to their kindly and 
 loving influence. He always considered himself to 
 be a teacher as well as an author, and he often told 
 me that what he sought to do was to interpret the 
 love and the beauty of life so that people would 
 come to realize that the earth could indeed be made 
 like heaven." 
 
 "Well," remarked Mr. Atkinson, "he certainly 
 had the right ideas. However, it will be some little 
 time before the world is so perfect and life so beau- 
 tiful that it really is like heaven, but men like De- 
 lancy are leading the way and God knows the world 
 has great need of such as he." 
 
 As the two elderly men sat there on the verandah 
 the view did indeed look like a glimpse of heaven. 
 The lawns never looked more beautiful and the 
 leaves of the trees and bushes stirred drowsily in 
 the slight breeze. A few yachts with snow-while 
 sails w^ere cruising about the blue waters of the 
 Sound and in the distance were the hills of the 
 North Shore of Long Island. 
 
 "Just before Delancy died," said Mr. Stanton, "I 
 had a talk with him about publishing a new, com- 
 plete edition of his works. I told him I wanted to 
 publish such an edition for there had been a big 
 
 — 18 — 
 
IN THE HANDS OF THE ANGELS 
 
 demand for it. He was delighted with the plan. 
 'But,' he said, '1 hope you'll make the edition as 
 inexpensive as possible, because I'd like people who 
 haven't much money to be able to buy it if they 
 want to.' I was with him the day he died and he 
 passed away very peacefully. Just before he went 
 to sleep his mind seemed, as it were, to be dreaming 
 of all his ideals, and I believe he really thought the 
 angels were there beside him at that very moment. 
 He was, of course, very weak, and he couldn't even 
 laise his hand to w^rite. But he looked over at the 
 table where his pen and ink lay untoched and as 
 he thought again of the hopes and visions and ideals 
 which he had sought to express in literature through- 
 out his life, he said as he w^ent to sleep, 'Now^ they 
 are in the hands of the angels'. " 
 
 "And," Mr. Stanton continued, "it may be be- 
 cause I'm getting old, but I believe he was right 
 after all, and that those angels really w^ere there." 
 
 September 26, 1920. 
 
 — 19 
 
AN EASTER STORY 
 
 George Grunders was a lawyer. In fact, he w^as 
 a great power in the legal profession — that is to 
 say, in the county where he resided, for he had 
 established his office in the village where he had 
 been born. On various occasions his friends had 
 urged him to move to the city, for they said his 
 talents should not be confined to a limited area. 
 Mr. Grunders, however, continued to reside in the 
 aforesaid village, and though his legal practice ex- 
 tended at times to the remote portions of the county, 
 it was chiefly confined to the farming community 
 surrounding the little village where he lived. 
 
 It may here be said that Mr. Grunders was a 
 man of somewhat formidable appearance. One 
 would hardly describe him as stout, but he was at 
 least massive and his thick iron-gray hair and beard 
 gave him at times a rather ferocious appearance. 
 And yet there were occasions when his eyes had a 
 kindly twinkle in them as much as to say that he 
 was not always ferocious. His voice w^as deep and 
 somewhat forbidding, and when he stated a propo- 
 sition or expounded some question of law^ he left 
 no doubt in the minds of his hearers as to w^hat he 
 meant. He w^as rugged and honest and his opinions, 
 though conservative, w^ere at least practical and 
 sound. In short, he was a lawyer of the old school, 
 a man of ability and integrity, and, as his friends 
 expressed it, "every inch a lawyer." 
 — 20 — 
 
AN EASTER STORY 
 
 At some little distance from the village was a 
 boys' school, and the principal of this school was an 
 old friend of the aforesaid Mr. Grunders. Now 
 the Reverend Mr. Horatio Blinkins, D. D., was the 
 name of the principal, and he was possessed of many 
 excellent and laudible ideas in regard to its conduct 
 and administration. His scholars ranged from the 
 age of twelve to the age of eighteen, and, all things 
 considered, were very fortunate in attending a 
 school conducted by the painstaking and inventive 
 Mr. Blinkins, for in his way Mr. Blinkins w^as some- 
 what of a genius. Among the customs which he had 
 long maintained at his school there was one w^hich 
 he regarded with special favor. Just before the 
 Easter vacation, on the last Sunday of the school 
 term, it was his invariable custom to invite some 
 clergyman or some dignified local celebrity to dine 
 at the school, and in the evening, just before the 
 boys w^ent up to their dormitories the entire school, 
 consisting of some sixty or seventy scholars, was 
 invited to his large study, and the celebrated guest 
 would narrate to them some story or some experi- 
 ence which he thought would be profitable to their 
 eager and developing minds. 
 
 Now as Easter was not very far away the Rev- 
 erend Mr. Blinkins began to turn over in his mind 
 the question of whom he should invite to recount 
 the annual Easter story. He was alone in his study 
 and he leaned back in his chair with his hands 
 clasped behind his head and contemplated first the 
 ceiling and then the windows and then the orna- 
 
 — 21 — 
 
AN EASTER STORY 
 
 ments on the mantlepiece in front of him. Finding 
 no special inspiration in these objects, he closed his 
 eyes and was soon lost in deep thought. All at 
 once he opened his eyes, a happy smile came over 
 his countenance, and taking up his pen he wrote a 
 letter to his old friend Mr. Grunders inviting him to 
 come over and recount to his scholars some narra- 
 tive or experience which would be suitable for 
 Easter as well as being entertaining and instructive 
 to the youth of the school. 
 
 When Mr. Grunders received the letter he con- 
 sidered for a few minutes w^hat w^ould be the most 
 instructive story to tell the boys. At length his 
 countenance assumed an expression of unmistakable 
 sternness and his eyes flashed with decision. He 
 knew now w^hat his instructive story would be. He 
 would tell them about the life and imprisonment of 
 Benny the Thief. This story would carry a moral 
 lesson. It was a capital idea. Benny had died 
 some years before, shortly after having been re- 
 leased from jail, where he had spent quite a number 
 of years. He had been a sort of a forlorn, good- 
 for nothing character, always poor. About half 
 of his life w^as spent in prison, although his various 
 terms behind the bars never seemed to really reform 
 him. There was nothing actually vicious about 
 Benny, and on certain occasions he even gave gen- 
 uine indications of trying to lead a new life, but 
 somehow or other his almost equally worthless com- 
 panions and the unfortunate environment in which 
 he always seemed to find himself would drag him 
 
 — 22 — 
 
AN EASTER STORY 
 
 down and he would go back to his old ways again. 
 Now Benny had lived in the town where Mr. Grun- 
 ders conducted his legal practice, and it had been 
 the stern duty of the latter on more than one occa- 
 sion to cause the arrest and incarceration of the 
 good-for-nothing Benny. And therefore in reply 
 to the request of Mr. Blinkins the formidable Mr. 
 Grunders wrote that he w^ould be very happy to 
 come, and added that he would be prepared to tell 
 an Easter story which he hoped w^ould be appro- 
 priate and w^hich he knew^ would be instructive. 
 
 As the attorney finished this letter he glanced at 
 his watch. It w^as getting on tow^ards the end of 
 the afternoon and he therefore decided to leave 
 his office and return to his house. His office, like 
 so many law offices, had a rather musty appearance. 
 Perhaps it w^as the scores and scores of old law 
 volumes along the dusty shelves, or perhaps it was 
 the time-w^orn furniture, consisting of a desk and a 
 few chairs, that gave the room its venerable and 
 sombre appearance. At all events the ancient room 
 was musty and austre. As Mr. Grunders was about 
 to leave he looked out of the window. It had been 
 rather a dreary afternoon, but the mists had now 
 partly cleared and the warm afternoon sunlight 
 flooded the scene w^ith its soft golden light. A few 
 shafts pierced the gloom of the office and seemed 
 to touch w^ith tender freshness the windows and 
 the walls. Mr. Grunders' office w^as at the back of 
 the building, and in the yard nearby were a few 
 trees w^hose leaves were just beginning to appear. 
 
 — 23 — 
 
AN EASTER STORY 
 
 There were tw^o apple trees and a maple and a few 
 bushes, and as Mr. Grunders stood by the w^indow^ 
 and looked out at them his thoughts somehow^ or 
 other seemed to wander away back to the bygone 
 years of his youth. As one may well imagine, the 
 formidable attorney was not often given to such 
 tender reminiscences, but there was something so 
 youthful and so fresh and so appealing about the 
 scene that he stood there for some little time, lost 
 in reveries of years long since gone by. 
 
 And later, as he was w^alking from his office to 
 his house, he looked up at the newly budding trees 
 and he breathed in the fragrance of the spring air 
 and felt refreshed and somehow younger. Sparrows 
 were chirping in the trees and on the roadway, and 
 one or two robins were hopping about the lawns. 
 When he reached his house Mr. Grunders sat out 
 for a while on the side porch for the air w^as now 
 quite balmy. In the pale blue sky were a few filmy 
 clouds, w^hile the slanting rays of the afternoon sun- 
 light touched with warmth and tenderness the new^ly 
 green lawn and the budding trees. Mr. Grunders' 
 thoughts kept going back, back to the days of his 
 youth, when all of life seemed glorious and radiant 
 with hope and promise. He thought of all the hap- 
 piness of his boyhood, of his rambles about the 
 summer fields, and through shady woods and by 
 the edge of cool refreshing streams. And then he 
 thought of his school days and of his graduation 
 from the public school. How beautiful the girls 
 were then. Where were they now? Scattered here 
 and there and many no longer living. 
 — 24 — 
 
AN EASTER STORY 
 
 Just then a young man and a girl walked past 
 along the nearby side\valk. The girl was very 
 beautiful, one of the belles of the town. 
 
 "So life goes onward,' thought Mr. Grunders, 
 as he looked at them and his eyes filled with tears. 
 
 That evening he spoke in an unusually kindly way 
 to his v/ife as he helped her off with her wraps 
 when she came in, and he inquired w^ith gentle 
 tenderness if there was anything he could do to help 
 her. Not that Mr. Grunders was not always a loving 
 and considerate husband, but this evening there was 
 more than the usual gentleness and tenderness in his 
 manner of speaking. After supper Mr. and Mrs. 
 Grunders sat out on the side porch and they talked 
 of old times and the years that had passed and 
 sometimes there were tears in their eyes. 
 
 And that night Mr. Grunders dreamed a dream. 
 And it seemed to him that he w^as given a glimpse 
 of the life to come. A young man approached him 
 and spoke a few^ reassuring words of kindness. As 
 Mr. Grunders looked at him he tried to recall where 
 he had seen him before. Ah, yes, now he knew. 
 He reminded him of the representation of Sir Gala- 
 had in the stained glass window of a cathedral. 
 And yet somehow he felt that he had seen him 
 before, though he couldn't for the life of him re- 
 member where. The young man then passed on 
 and another came in his place. 
 
 Mr. Grunders wanted to ask the newcomer about 
 
 the other young man, but he rather hesitated to 
 
 address him. The angel, for it was no less, reading 
 
 his thoughts, said: "Fear not, " and he then told Mr. 
 
 — 25 — 
 
AN EASTER STORY 
 
 Grunders that the young man he had just seen had 
 lived in the same town as Mr. Grunders and on 
 earth his name had been Benny. 
 
 "Why, yes," said Mr. Grunders; "why, it is Benny 
 after all, only how young he looks and how different: 
 and how glorious." 
 
 "He always was glorious," said the angel. "He 
 has not changed. Only your eyes were very dim. 
 You could not see." 
 
 Mr. Grunders had always prided himself on his 
 good eyesight, but as the angel spoke there came 
 back to the mind of the lawyer words which he 
 had heard on earth but had long since forgotten: 
 "Now we see as through a glass darkly, but then 
 we shall see in the light." 
 
 Other people passed by. 
 
 "How young they all look and how happy," said 
 the attorney. "Are all the people here happy and 
 young like them?" 
 
 "Yes," said the angel, "here they never grow 
 old." 
 
 And as Mr. Grunders looked about him he 
 realized that here indeed was the land of youth 
 eternal. 
 
 Slowlj' the vision of it all seemed to fade away 
 and Mr. Grunders awoke from his dream. Yes, 
 he was back again in his room, for he could hear 
 the clock ticking away on the mantle. He looked 
 over to the window^, where the moonlight streamed 
 into the room. How quiet it all was. How peace- 
 fully the little village was sleeping. 
 
 His thoughts kept going back to his dream and 
 — 2 6 — 
 
AN EASTER STORY 
 
 he felt wonderfully refreshed and happy though his 
 eyes were wet with tears. And then he thought of 
 the sermon which the village clergyman had 
 preached on the preceding Easter. In this sermon 
 he had dwelt at length on the environment of the 
 individual and had said that the perfection and 
 beauty of everyone's character w^as always there if 
 people could only see it. He went on to say that 
 so often it was difficult if not impossible for this 
 beauty of character to be revealed owing to the 
 environment which obscured its brilliance and its 
 tenderness and love. And then the clergyman had 
 gone on to speak of the power of love — pure, un- 
 selfish love for all humanity — and he had said that 
 this miracle of love continuing through the ages 
 would in time make the earth like heaven itself. 
 And he w^ent on to speak of the contrast between 
 the old and the new conceptions of heaven as well 
 as earth. The old ideas, he said, w^ere of a stern 
 and rather austre character, but the new ideas dwell 
 more on the beauty and truth of unselfish love. 
 Love, he said, had power to roll away all barriers 
 on earth as well as in heaven. And then the clergy- 
 man had closed his sermon with that glorious ac- 
 count of the resurrection w^hich has no equal in all 
 the annals of the ages: 
 
 "In the end of the Sabbath, as it began to dawn 
 toward the first day of the w^eek, came Mary Mag- 
 dalene, and the other Mary, to see the sepulchre. 
 And behold, there w^as a great earthquake: for the 
 angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came 
 and rolled back the stone from the door and sat 
 — 27 — 
 
AN EASTER STORY 
 
 upon it. His countenance was like lightning, and 
 his raiment white as snow. And for fear of him the 
 keepers did shake, and became as dead men. And 
 the angel answered and said unto the women. Fear 
 not ye: for I know^ that ye seek Jesus, which was 
 crucified. He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. 
 Come, see the place where the Lord lay. And go 
 quickly, and tell his disciples, that he is risen from 
 the dead, and behold, he goeth before you into 
 Galilee: there shall ye see him: lo, 1 have told you." 
 
 As Mr. Grunders thought about these things he 
 resolved then and there that instead of telling the 
 boys of Mr. Blinkins' school the story of Benny 
 the Thief, he would tell them instead the story of 
 his dream. 
 
 "That," said Mr. Grunders, "would be a better 
 story for Easter." 
 
 January 14, 1921. 
 
 28