THE CHANGE 225 



in the opera Louise, and would think of his 

 dead wife as he sat at the piano. And I 

 would think of Louise as I first saw her, 

 in her simple dress, bareheaded in the 

 meadow, with a rich golden-brown light 

 on her cheeks like the lacquered ripples 

 of a stream hovering and gleaming under 

 a bridge." 



" You are very sad," I said. 



" A poet is always sad," he answered. 



" Then there should be no poets if that 

 is so. Happiness is greater than poetry." 



" You are right," he whispered presently, 

 " but let me tell you my tale before it is 

 too late, for shortly the wood will be down, 

 and on the place where we stand will be 

 houses. And when that happens the last 

 link will be broken." 



" Terry and I and Louise became fast 

 friends, and so we grew up. I went away 

 to London in order to learn the tea trade. 

 Terry stopped here with his father, and, 

 instead of sitting on a stool in a dim office, 



