Grandfather sits in an old armchair. The back of it boasts an anti-macassar in many colors, while the seat has a patchwork cushion.

Grandmother occupies a low rocker, which moves slowly to and fro, as she softly hums the hymn of the Sunday service.

Keeping silence is grandfather’s “long suit”—while making, in reality, my life.

He is a sturdy old chap, with a will and determination which has carried him beyond anti-macassars and patchwork cushions, and centered itself upon me. No fly was ever more helpless!

I make the announcement:

“Life is going to give me something more than this country town.”

Silence reigns on the left of the hearth, and creak! creak! and a gentle hum answers me from the right.

Minutes, which seem hours, pass—but emboldened by the pictures seen in the coals, once more a voice is heard:

“When I am grown up I am going to the city! and I am going to travel! and I am going around the world! and I am going to make a heap of money and be famous!”

Silence!

Creak—creak!!

Half of eternity passes—when once more, emboldened spirit takes hold of courage and dares to speak.

“I have made up my mind and I am going to do what I said, and nothing shall keep me from it!”

Silence!

Creak—creak!!

Years pass in review. The coals burn to ash, and from a far-off sphere issues a voice:

“I’ll have none of that nonsense. You’ll do what you are told to do!”

Silence!

Creak—creak!!

The pictures fade. A clock strikes. The chair groans and grandfather goes in search of his lantern.

Creak—creak! and then the touch of a gentle hand and a voice made sweet from singing many hymns:

“Make your pictures, my boy, for they will come true. Make them, hold them, and most of all believe in them. Good night.”

Silence!

Creak—creak!!