That his dreams could never be realized, does not make them foolish nor wrong.

His dreams that seemed so foolish--such impossible ideals--were more real, after all, than this life that we think so real.
WE are the dreamers,--we and our kind,--and our awakening is as sure to come as that river out there is sure of reaching the sea." The man laughed harshly: "You are quite poetical, to-night.

I believe I like you better, though, when you talk sense." "I am sorry, Harry," she returned.

"Please don't be cross with me! Go now,--please go!" And something forced the man to silence.

Slowly, he left the room.