Sun and shower--sun and shower-- Now rough, now smooth, is the winding way; Thorn and flower--thorn and flower-- Which will you gather? Who can say? Wayward hearts, there's a world for your winning, Sorrow and laughter, love or woe: Who can tell in the day's beginning The paths that your wandering feet shall go? The village choir were practicing in the church--their voices, somewhat harsh and uncultivated, were sending forth volumes of sound into the summer air. The church doors were thrown open, and a young man dressed in cricketing-flannels was leaning against the porch. He was tall, and square-shouldered, with closely-cropped dark hair, and a keen, intelligent face.…
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