And after that they came to love the twilight for the things it
bequeathed them. "Don't you remember," he would say, "we left it just as
the sun was setting. Aren't you glad we can remember it so?" It was as if
their love could take unto itself most readily that which came to it in
the mystic hour of closing day.
And when they returned, during that first year of joy in their work, they
loved the hour of transition as an hour of rest. Their day's work was
done; in the evening they would study or read or in some way occupy
themselves, but because they had worked all through the day they could
rest for a short time in the twilight. And they would tell of what they
had done; of what they hoped to do; if there had been discouragements
they would tell of them, and with the telling they would draw away. In
the light of closing day the future's picture was unblurred. They loved
their hour then as true workers love it; it was good to sink with the day
to the half lights of rest and peace.
Now it was all different, but they clung to their love for it still.
Pages:
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228