"A good deal like looking at humanity," he said; "there is such a
thing as getting so far above our fellow men that we see only one side
of them."
Ah, how much better was this sort of talk than the chatter and gossip
of the Tabb and the Hoogencamp--than the Major's dissertations upon
his everlasting circulars! My wife and I exchanged glances.
"Now, when I went up the Matterhorn" Mr. Brede began.
"Why, dear," interrupted his wife, "I didn't know you ever went up the
Matterhorn."
"It--it was five years ago," said Mr. Brede, hurriedly. "I--I didn't
tell you--when I was on the other side, you know--it was rather
dangerous--well, as I was saying--it looked--oh, it didn't look at all
like this."
A cloud floated overhead, throwing its great shadow over the field
where we lay. The shadow passed over the mountain's brow and
reappeared far below, a rapidly decreasing blot, flying eastward over
the golden green. My wife and I exchanged glances once more.
Somehow, the shadow lingered over us all. As we went home, the Bredes
went side by side along the narrow path, and my wife and I walked
together.
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