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Updated: June 1, 2025
He put his hand upon Barton's arm and gently pressed it. "Barton," he said, "tell me Janet Tawnleytown?" Barton stared with glassy, unseeing eyes for a moment; then his eyelids fell. "The bravest adventures the yellowest gold," he murmured. Then, so faintly as almost to baffle hearing: "Where all our dreams? Gone aglimmering. Gone." That was all. Impossible? No, just very, very improbable.
Indeed, he felt that way about Tawnleytown, as if it were a closed room of the world, a room of long ago, unused now, unimportant, forgotten. So unquestionably he was ready enough to go. He had all the fine and far-flung dreams of surging youth. He peopled the world with his fancies, built castles on every high hill.
"Where are all our wonderful dreams if you stay here? Gone aglimmering! Gone! I can't see them all go I can't! Can you?" Was he to have, then, both Janet and his dreams? His heart quickened. He leaned impulsively toward her. She pushed his face away with her free hand. "No no! Wait till I'm through! We've always known we weren't like other Tawnleytown folk, haven't we, dear?
That was the programme complete, except for the talk, the fascinating, never-ending talk. So, under her veiled fostering, the feeling that he must leave Tawnleytown kept growing upon Harber until one evening it crystallized in decision. It was on a Sunday. They had taken a lunch and climbed Bald Knob, a thousand feet above the town, late in the afternoon.
Who shall say how love goes or comes? Its ways are a sacred, insoluble mystery, no less. But it had gone for Harber: and just as surely, though so suddenly, had it come! Yes, life had bitterly tricked him at last. She had sent him this girl ... too late! The letter in the envelope was written to tell Janet Spencer that within six weeks he would be in Tawnleytown to claim her in marriage.
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