Senator St. John, very old and very moving, came heavily out of the house, and laid his hands upon the shoulders of Margaret and Aladdin.  It was like a benediction.

“I have been thinking,” said the senator, very slowly, and in the voice of an old man, “that God has left some flowers in my garden.”

“Roses?” said Aladdin, and he looked at Margaret.

“Roses perhaps,” said the senator, “and withal some bittersweet, but, better than these, and more, he has left me heart’s-ease.  This little flower,” continued the senator, “is sown in times of great doubt and sorrow and trouble, and it will grow only for a good gardener, one who has learned to bow patiently in all things to God’s will, and to set his feet valiantly against the stony way which God appoints.  I call Margaret ‘Heart’s-ease,’ and I call you, too, ‘Heart’s-ease,’ Aladdin, for you are becoming like a son to me in my declining years.  Consider the river, how it flows,” said the old man, “smoothly to the sea, asking no questions, and making no lamentations against the length of its days, and receiving cheerfully into the steadfast current of its going alike the bitter waters and the sweet.”

We have forgotten Aladdin’s songs and the tunes which he made, for the people’s ear is not tuned to them any more.  But that is a little thing.  It is pleasant to think of that night when, the knocking of his heart against his ribs louder than the knocking of his hand upon her door, he carried to Margaret’s side the wonderful lamp which, years before, had been lighted within him, and which, burning always, now high, now low, like the rising and falling tides in the river, had at length consumed whatever in his nature was little or base, until there was nothing left save those precious qualities, love and charity, which fire cannot calcine nor cold freeze.  Also it is pleasant to think that little children came of their love and sang about their everlasting fire.