PA LOS PARK 



173 



road to the station, making the sweet night air 

 merry with songs. All the children were good. 

 How could it be otherwise? 



Our god deposited us at the station, filling our 

 arms with the chariot's adornings. 



In my little best room I have them yet, ex 

 quisitely tinted old-rose oak leaves, and as I look 

 at them I whisper to myself, "Et ego in Arcadia." 

 I, too, have been in Arcadia. 



