No. I'm not so old. I still lovmpany
aml jokes and candy ami chicken pie and
flowers and pretty girls. I still love to go
fishing, and to see circus pro<-.-si..ns. ami
climb to the mountain's top and look down
upon the distant prospect, and thank my
Maker for this beautiful world. Me have
to elimb for everything worth having, and
1 am willing to climb a little longer.
(Inly sixty-six—but the trouble is I keep
getting older every day. if one could slop
and call a halt and rest awhile under the
shade it wouldn’t be so bad. bur there is
no rest for the wicked. These birthdays
are like milestones that mark the journey
of life —very curious miles indeed, for they
get shorter and shorter as the journey goes
on. Everything shrinks. When I was
twenty it seemed a long way back to child
hood, and still longer ahead to old age. but
the last forty-six years are less than those
that were before. lam not far away from
the children now. I can sit on my mile
stone and, like a telephone, hoar my
grandson as ho sits on his, “Hello, my
boy!” "Hello, grandpa.” I hear him faint
ly, but I hear him. and he is coming on.
