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picture；
a breath of spring…time in the misty trees； a harmony of joy in
the dancing figures； that wakened in him a feeling of
half…pleasure
and half…envy。 It represented something that he had never known
in his
calculated； orderly life。 He was dimly mistrustful of it。
〃It is certainly very beautiful；〃 he thought； 〃but it is
distinctly pagan；
that altar is built to some heathen god。 It does not fit into
the scheme of a Christian life。 I doubt whether it is consistent
with
the tone of my house。 I will sell it this winter。 It will bring
three or four times what I paid for it。 That was a good
purchase；
a very good bargain。〃
He dropped into the revolving chair before his big library table。
It was covered with pamphlets and reports of the various
enterprises
in which he was interested。 There was a pile of newspaper
clippings
in which his name was mentioned with praise for his sustaining
power as
a pillar of finance； for his judicious benevolence； for his
support of
wise and prudent reform movements； for his discretion in making
permanent
public gifts〃the Weightman Charities；〃 one very complaisant
editor
called them； as if they deserved classification as a distinct
species。
He turned he papers over listlessly。 There was a description and
a picture of the 〃Weightman Wing of the Hospital for Cripples；〃
of which he was president； and an article on the new professor in
the 〃Weightman Chair of Political Jurisprudence〃 in Jackson
University；
of which he was a trustee； and an illustrated account of the
opening of
the 〃Weightman Grammar…School〃 at Dulwich…on…the…Sound； where he
had his
legal residence for purposes of taxation。
This last was perhaps the most carefully planned of all the
Weightman Charities。 He desired to win the confidence and
support of
his rural neighbors。 It had pleased him much when the local
newspaper
had spoken of him as an ideal citizen and the logical candidate
for
the Governorship of the State； but upon the whole it seemed to
him
wiser to keep out of active politics。 It would be easier and
better to
put Harold into the running； to have him sent to the Legislature
from
the Dulwich district； then to the national House； then to the
Senate。
Why not？ The Weightman interests were large enough to need a
direct
representative and guardian at Washington。
But to…night all these plans came back to him with dust upon
them。
They were dry and crumbling like forsaken habitations。 The son
upon whom his complacent ambition had rested had turned his back
upon
the mansion of his father's hopes。 The break might not be final；
and in any event there would be much to live for； the fortunes of
the family would be secure。 But the zest of it all would be gone
if
John Weightman had to give up the assurance of perpetuating his
name
and his principles in his son。 It was a bitter disappointment；
and he felt that he had not deserved it。
He rose from the chair and paced the room with leaden feet。
For the first time in his life his age was visibly upon him。
His head was heavy and hot； and the thoughts that rolled in it
were confused and depressing。 Could it be that he had made a
mistake
in the principles of his existence？ There was no argument in
what Harold had saidit was almost childishand yet
it had shaken the elder man more deeply than he cared to show。
It held a silent attack which touched him more than open
criticism。
Suppose the end of his life were nearer than he thoughtthe end
must come some timewhat if it were now？ Had he not
founded his house upon a rock？ Had he not kept the Commandments？
Was he not； 〃touching the law； blameless〃？ And beyond this；
even if there were some faults in his characterand all men are
sinners
yet he surely believed in the saving doctrines of religionthe
forgiveness
of sins； the resurrection of the body； the life everlasting。
Yes； that was the true source of comfort； after all。 He would
read a bit
in the Bible； as he did every night； and go to bed and to sleep。
He went back to his chair at the library table。 A strange weight
of
weariness rested upon him； but he opened the book at a familiar
place；
and his eyes fell upon the verse at the bottom of the page。
〃Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth。〃
That had been the text of the sermon a few weeks before。
Sleepily； heavily； he tried to fix his mind upon it and recall
it。
What was it that Doctor Snodgrass had said？ Ah； yesthat it was
a mistake to pause here in reading the verse。 We must read on
without
a pauseLay not up treasures upon earth where moth and rust do
corrupt
and where thieves break through and stealthat was the true
doctrine。
We may have treasures upon earth； but they must not be put into
unsafe places； but into safe places。 A most comforting doctrine！
He had always followed it。 Moths and rust and thieves had done
no harm
to his investments。
John Weightman's drooping eyes turned to the next verse；
at the top of the second column。
〃But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven。〃
Now what had the Doctor said about that？ How was it to
be understoodin what sensetreasuresin heaven？
The book seemed to float away from him。 The light vanished。
He wondered dimly if this could be Death； coming so suddenly； so
quietly；
so irresistibly。 He struggled for a moment to hold himself up；
and then sank slowly forward upon the table。 His head rested
upon
his folded hands。 He slipped into the unknown。
How long afterward conscious life returned to him he did not
know。
The blank might have been an hour or a century。 He knew only
that
omething had happened in the interval。 What is was he could not
tell。
He found great difficulty in catching the thread of his identity
again。
He felt that he was himself； but the trouble was to make his
connections；
to verify and place himself； to know who and where he was。
At last it grew clear。 John Weightman was sitting on a stone；
not far from a road in a strange land。
The road was not a formal highway； fenced and graded。 It was
more like
a great travel…trace； worn by thousands of feet passing across
the open country in the same direction。 Down in the valley；
into which he could look； the road seemed to form itself
gradually out of
many minor paths； little footways coming across the meadows；
winding tracks following along beside the streams； faintly marked
trails
emerging from the woodlands。 But on the hillside the threads
were more
firmly woven into one clear band of travel； though there were
still
a few dim paths joining it here and there； as if persons had been
climbing up the hill by other ways and had turned at last to seek
the road。
From the edge of the hill； where John Weightman sat； he could see
the travelers； in little groups or larger companies； gathering
from
time to time by the different paths； and making the ascent。
They were all clothed in white； and the form of their garments
was
strange to him； it was like some old picture。 They passed him；
group after group； talking quietly together or singing； not
moving
in haste； but with a certain air of eagerness and joy as if they
were
glad to be on their way to an appointed place。 They did not stay
to
speak to him； but they looked at him often and spoke to one
another
as they looked； and now and then one of them would smile and
beckon him a friendly greeting； so that he felt they would like
him
to be with them。
There was quite an interval between the groups； and he followed
each of them with his eyes after it had passed； blanching the
long ribbon of the road for a little transient space； rising and
receding
acro