e there
was no need of bodily sustenance, there could be nothing which
resembled the old weary toil of the body; but now I saw gladly that this
was not so, and that the primal needs of the spirit outlast the visible
world. Though my own life had been spent mostly among books and things
of the mind, I knew well the joys of the countryside, the blossoming of
the orchard-close, the high-piled granary, the brightly-painted waggon
loaded with hay, the creaking of the cider-press, the lowing of cattle
in the stall, the stamping of horses in the stable, the mud-stained
implements hanging in the high-roofed, cobwebbed barn. I had never known
why I loved these things so well, and had invented many fancies to
explain it; but now I saw that it was the natural delight in work and
increase; and that the love which surrounded all these things was the
sign that they were real indeed, and that in no part of life could they
be put away. And then there came on me a sort of gentle laughter at the
thought of how much of the religion of the world spent itself on bidding
the heart turn away from vanities, and lose itself in dreams of wonders
and doctrines, and what were called higher and holier things than barns
and byres and sheep-pens. Yet the truth had been staring me in the face
all the time, if only I could have seen it; that the sense of constraint
and unreality that fell upon one in religious matters, when some curious
and intricate matter was confusedly expounded, was perfectly natural and
wholesome; and that the real life of man lay in the things to which one
returned, on work-a-day mornings, with such relief--the acts of life,
the work of homestead, library, barrack, office, and class-room, the
sight and sound of humanity, the smiles and glances and unconsidered
words.

When we had sat together for a time, the boy made haste to depart. We
three went with him to the edge of the wood, where a road passed up
among the oaks. The three embraced and kissed and said many loving
words; and then to ease the anxieties of the two, I said that I would
myself set the boy forward on his way, and see him well bestowed. They
thanked me, and we went together into the wood, the two lovingly waving
and beckoning, and the boy stepping blithely by my side.

I asked him whether he was not sorry to go and leave the quiet place and
the pair that loved him. He smiled and said that he knew he was not
leaving them at all, and that he was sure that they woul