По эту сторону рая

           ’"

           "Whatofit?"Ferrenbybegantolookalarmed."OliverCromwellsaidit,didn’the?orwasitWashington,oroneofthesaints?GoodLord,I’veforgotten."

           Burneroaredwithlaughter.

           "Oh,Jesse,oh,good,kindJesse."

           "Whosaidit,forPete’ssake?"

           "Well,"saidBurne,recoveringhisvoice,"St.MatthewattributesittoChrist."

           "MyGod!"criedJesse,andcollapsedbackwardintothewaste-basket.

           AMORYWRITESAPOEM

           Theweekstoreby.AmorywanderedoccasionallytoNewYorkonthechanceoffindinganewshininggreenauto-bus,thatitsstick-of-candyglamourmightpenetratehisdisposition.Onedayheventuredintoastock-companyrevivalofaplaywhosenamewasfaintlyfamiliar.Thecurtainrose—hewatchedcasuallyasagirlentered.Afewphrasesranginhisearandtouchedafaintchordofmemory.Where—?When—?

           Thenheseemedtohearavoicewhisperingbesidehim,averysoft,vibrantvoice:"Oh,I’msuchapoorlittlefool;dotellmewhenIdowrong."

           Thesolutioncameinaflashandhehadaquick,gladmemoryofIsabelle.

           Hefoundablankspaceonhisprogramme,andbegantoscribblerapidly:

           "HereinthefigureddarkIwatchoncemore,

           There,withthecurtain,rolltheyearsaway;

           Twoyearsofyears—therewasanidleday

           Ofours,whenhappyendingsdidn’tbore

           Ourunfermentedsouls;Icouldadore

           Youreagerfacebesideme,wide-eyed,gay,

           Smilingarepertoirewhilethepoorplay

           Reachedmeasafaintripplereachesshore.

           "Yawningandwonderinganeveningthrough,

           Iwatchalone...