"
"No, it's not the same," she answered. "You leave so much more that you
want to keep, when you go at fifty."
"Well, I dunno. I never thought of that."
"There's all that has belonged to you. You've been married, and have
children, haven't you?"
He started, frowned, then straightened himself. "I got one girl--she's
east with her grandmother," he said jerkily.
"That's what I said; there's more to leave behind at fifty," she replied,
a red spot on each cheek. She was not looking at him, but at the face of
a man on the paper before her--a young man with abundant hair, a strong
chin, and big, eloquent eyes; and all around his face she had drawn the
face of a girl many times, and beneath the faces of both she was writing
Manette and Julien.
The water was getting too deep for John Alloway.
He floundered towards the shore. "I'm no good at words," he said--
"no good at argyment; but I've got a gift for stories--round the fire of
a night, with a pipe and a tin basin of tea; so I'm not going to try and
match you. You've had a good education down at Winnipeg.
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