As he approached the gable of Mrs. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people. They had not so far been of much personal interest to Gerald, but tonight was different. The boy she had loved was gone. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. Wasn’t it—a little bit of a scene?” “Oh! let me see. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. “Shit happens, John.
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