134 The Life Worth Living 



As I stand looking down the river in 

 brooding silence, suddenly the Old Dominion 

 steamer sweeps around the bend, the storm 

 spray dashing against her bow, her black and 

 yellow funnel pouring a cloud of smoke into 

 the sky. Her deep bass voice breaks the 

 stillness at the sight of her pier. Three times 

 it rings in triumph over the icy waters, 

 the summons of the big world from whence 

 she comes, where man has built a home 

 beyond the frost line. 



I know now, and I begin to pack. I am 

 going back to town. 



