More than two of those four years had passed and, as the weeks had dragged along I had thought more and more of Sally and the day that was coming.

I had bought a suit of evening clothes and learned to dance and gone out to parties and met many beautiful young ladies but none of them had the charm of Sally.

The memory of youth--true-hearted, romantic, wonder-working youth--had enthroned her in its golden castle and was defending her against the present commonplace herd of mere human beings.

No one of them had played with me in the old garden or stood by the wheat-field with flying hair, as yellow as the grain, and delighted me with the sweetest words ever spoken.

No one of them had been glorified with the light and color of a thousand dreams.
I rode in silence, thinking of her and of those beautiful days now receding into the past and of my aunt and uncle.