I was
profoundly grateful that I was privileged to hear a sermon like that
from a son of mine. Now, Barry," continued his father, "this is our last
day together for some months, perhaps forever," he added in a low tone.
"Don't, daddy, don't," cried Barry, "I can't bear to think of that
to-day."
"All right, Barry, but why not? It is really far better that we should
face all the possibilities. But now that we have this day--and what a
perfect day it is--for our last day together, what shall we do with it?"
"I know, dad--I think you would wish that we take our ride into the
foothills to-day."
"It was in my mind, my boy. I hesitated to suggest it. So let us go."
It was one of those rare November days that only Alberta knows, mellow
with the warm sun, and yet with a nip in it that suggested the coming
frost, without a ripple of the wind that almost constantly sweeps the
Alberta ranges. In the blue sky hung motionless, like white ships at
sea, bits of cloud. The long grass, brown, yellow and green in a hundred
shades, lay like a carpet over the rolling hills and wide spreading
valleys, reaching up on every side to the horizon, except toward the
west, where it faded into the blue of the foothills at the bases of the
mighty Rockies.
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