every morning laid by her husband's plate, before breakfast, a bunch of flowers—or at least, a green leaf, if no flowers were to be found. When Jim first saw her do this, he came to me, and said, "Will, that 's the way the Lord meant a woman and a man should love each other. That geranium-flower she put down by his plate this morning was n't simply a geranium-flower—either to her or to him. Oh, if I were a poet, I 'd just write what I saw in her eyes. They said, 'All the summers of the world, all the sun, all the light, all the color, have gone to make up these blossoms; since the beginning of time, the moment has been journeying on at which it should bloom, in the spot where my hand could gather it for thee; my vow is no less than its! Love it for to-day, my love! reverence it, and to-morrow another blossom will bloom either here or in eternity, also for thee!'"
"Oh, Jim," I said, "You ought to have been a woman. I don't believe the dear old mother thought any such thing. She knows that Dominie loves flowers that 's all!"
"All!" exclaimed Jim, "I tell you the flower 's nothing! It might be a pebble; it might be a crown of diamonds and pearls. It 's the soul of love, and the symbol of life, when she lays it down there of a morning. It 's just so when she hands him a newspaper, for that matter. I 've seen him look up at her as if she had just that minute given him herself for the first time, dear old lovers, that
