Can Mrs. Jones have rushed him back and hidden him away in
Nebraska? I remember that as we said good-bye, there was that in
her smile that recalled the vulpine complacency of Mona Lisa, the
Wise.

Kohala, Hawaii,
May 5, 1916.




STORY: LIKE ARGUS OF THE ANCIENT TIMES




It was the summer of 1897, and there was trouble in the Tarwater
family. Grandfather Tarwater, after remaining properly subdued and
crushed for a quiet decade, had broken out again. This time it was
the Klondike fever. His first and one unvarying symptom of such
attacks was song. One chant only he raised, though he remembered
no more than the first stanza and but three lines of that. And the
family knew his feet were itching and his brain was tingling with
the old madness, when he lifted his hoarse-cracked voice, now
falsetto-cracked, in:


Like Argus of the ancient times,
We leave this modern Greece,