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Clarence had crossed the Pons Asinorum; a series of intoxicated circles, with sharp-cornered triangles piercing their fat sides, bore eloquent testimony to his faltering steps. “Of course they won’t be too tired! The kids have pluck.” “Oh, Billy, don’t ask me. I can’t bear to think of it. But I almost forgot,—your mother said if I saw you to tell you to go by the store and get a loaf of bread. There’s the train!” Now he flew off down the county road at a speed that made passers turn; but he saw no one. He neither slackened nor looked back till he found himself at the river where the little island rose, flower-crowned. The poppies were fewer; and where a month before the flame-flower had triumphed, to-day wild roses perfumed the air..