path, and add a touch of beauty to our dwelling place, seemed
unbelievable at the time. Yet to-day our first baby still lives with us,
as wonderful as she was in those glad thirteen months. She has not grown
older, as have we, but smiles that same sweet baby smile of hers upon us
as of old. We can talk of her now bravely and proudly; and we have come
to understand that it was a privilege to have had her, even for those
brief thirteen months.

To have joys in common is the dream of man and wife. We had supposed
that love was based on mutual _happiness_. And Mother and I had been
happy together; we had been walking arm in arm under blue skies, and we
knew how much we meant to each other. But just how much we _needed_ each
other neither of us really knew--until we had to share a common sorrow.

To be partners in a sacred memory is a divine bond. To be partners in a
little mound, in one of God's silent gardens, is the closest
relationship which man and woman can know on this earth. Our lives had
been happy before; now they had been made beautiful.

So it was with the home. It began to mean more to us, as we began each
to mean more to the other. The bedroom in which our baby fell asleep
seemed glorified. Of course there were the lonely days and weeks and
months when everything we touched or saw brought back the memory of her.
I came home many an evening to find on Mother's face the mark of tears;
and I knew she had been living over by herself the sorrow of it all.

I learned how much braver the woman has to be than the man. I could go
into town, where there was the contagion of good cheer; and where my
work absorbed my thoughts and helped to shut out grief. But not so with
Mother! She must live day by day and hour by hour amid the scenes of her