She looked up at him, with a wan smile. "A barren life!" she said: "ah,
yes, his was a wasted life! His books are all out-of-date now, and
nobody reads them, and it is just as if he had never been. A barren
life, Olaf! And that beautiful boy might have had so much fun--Life is
queer, isn't it, Olaf?"

Again he laughed, "The criticism," he suggested, "is not altogether
original. And Science, no less than War, must have her unsung heroes.
You must remember," he continued, more seriously, "that any great work
must have as its foundation the achievements of unknown men. I fancy
that Cheops did not lay every brick in his pyramid with his own hand;
and I dare say Nebuchadnezzar employed a few helpers when he was laying
out his hanging gardens. But time cannot chronicle these lesser men.
Their sole reward must be the knowledge that they have aided somewhat in
the unending work of the world."

Her face had altered into a pink and white penitence which was flavored
with awe.

"I--I forgot," she murmured, contritely; "I--forgot you were--like
him--about your genealogies, you know. Oh, Olaf, I'm very silly! Of
course, it is tremendously fine and--and nice, I dare say, if you like
it,--to devote your life to learning, as you and he have done. I forgot,
Olaf. Still, I am sorry, somehow, for that beautiful boy," she ended,
with a disconsolate glance at the portrait.




VII