Tell him what it
was that saddened our lives. As he looks into his mother's face,
it will steady him."
He put both arms around her neck.
"I am tired of it all," he said. "I want rest. Love has been more
cruel to me than death."
A few days later, an afternoon of the same autumnal stillness, they
bore him across his threshold with that gentleness which so often
comes too late--slowly through his many-colored woods, some leaves
drifting down upon the sable plumes and lodging in them---along the
turnpike lined with dusty thistles--through the watching town, a
long procession, to the place of the unreturning.
They laid him along with his fathers.
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