At the gate I heard a voice,
and a boy about three years old, in a soiled gingham apron, a sturdy,
blue-eyed little chap, whose face was still eloquent of his recent
breakfast, came running to meet me. I stopped the mare. A moment later a
woman was at the gate between the rows of hollyhocks; when she saw me
she began hastily to roll down her sleeves.
"Why, Mr. Grayson!"
"How's the boy, Anna?"
And it was the cheerful talk we had there by the roadside, and the sight
of the sturdy boy playing in the sunshine--and the hollyhocks, and the
dilapidated house--that brought to memory the old story of Anna which I
here set down, not because it carries any moral, but because it is a
common little piece out of real life in which Harriet and I have been
interested.
VI
THE DRUNKARD
It is a strange thing: Adventure. I looked for her high and I looked for
her low, and she passed my door in a tattered garment--unheeded. For I
had neither the eye of simplicity nor the heart of humility. One day I
looked for her anew and I saw her beckoning from the Open Road; and
underneath the tags and tatters I caught the gleam of her celestial
garment; and I went with her into a new world.
I have had a singular adventure, in which I have made a friend.
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