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of the gallery. The gallery-if he could regain the Lethean comfort
of the gallery...

The picture frame lay behind him down the narrow gravel road.
He staggered back, turned, stumbled down the path. Beyond that
frame lay peace. From the other side of the frame he could look back
on the past, and the cottage would still stand in the glow of evening
against cool, soothing shadows, and Lisa would still be inside waiting
for him.

He ran haltingly down the path is if laboring under a heavy

burden. The gravel made uncertain footing, and shadows deepened,

and he couldn't find the frame. It was only a little further, but it

was a world away. The burden of self-reproach weighed heavier with

every step. He stumbled and it brought him to his knees. Then dark-
ness overtook him on the road.
""
. .""
An outraged J. Rembrandt Smith pointed out his favorite work
to the guard with an angry finger.

"What has happened to my painting? Have you stolen it and
put another in its place? I painted a cottage, not a tumble-down
shack. And that wretched figure lying in the road. I didn't paint
him there."

Yesterday Morning

SUE WHEELER

Suddenly, yesterday morning, after coffee cups were cleaned,
While I punched at pillows and dusted chairs,
A II my little gods went crashing to the floor.
I heard them fall.
Scattered splinter sharp they lay.
"You were getting old anyway."
I laughed and swept them up.
And though my fingers smarted with their piercing slivers
I did not cry. I could not ... after all
There were beds to be made yet
And this whole room needed cleaning.

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