A MADRIGAL OF THE NIGHT 45 
the night save the happy sound of youth laughter 
where a pack of boy-men had congregated in the 
little telegraph office to talk a spell; and the 
guffaws of boy laughter with boys came shout- 
ing out of the little dim-lit windows like a gale 
of music to me, for what has more blessing than 
the laughter of the happy hearts; of happy folks 
whom God has blessed with the holy gift of 
laughter? 
Happy human voices never intrude on any 
melody this world has in waiting for such as 
love its abundant tunefulness. 
So the voices wafted from the little dim sta- 
tion; and, besides, the wind was whist, and the 
skies drew closer and more friendly, and I waited 
for the sound of horses’ hoofs pounding an age- 
long rune in the dark. Stillness there, and 
nothing more. The breath of the vanished rain 
and the fickle promise of clouds which had been 
torn into windows through which stars gleamed 
with their lights, and I, a traveler from every- 
where intent on everything which God has for 
distribution to those who wait at his table think- 
ing to catch a crumb. The stars were far and 
high; and the clouds were near and stern; and 
I was walking through star-lamp light and drowsy- 
shadowed cloud and waiting. For the cart? Not 
altogether. Mostly for the wonder of the world. 
For am I not always waiting for the wonder of 
the world? That is who I am, if any foolish 
body cared to know. The waiter for the wonder 
