hat writing means to me.
When I stopped, he said:

"'I didn't know you were so religious.... But about this writing
matter----' and opened the subject again....

"He's all right. Nature will doubtless take care of him. Perhaps his
view of life: 'I see what I see and take what I can,' is as much as is
asked from the many in the great plan of things--but I like madness
better. To me, his is fatal enchantment; to me, wars and all tragedies
are better. I would rather live intensely in error than stolidly in
things as they are. If this is a devil and not a half-god that sleeps
within--at least, I want him awake. I must feel his force. If he is a
devil, perhaps I can beat him."

"That's something of a definition of imagination," the teacher said,
"----seeing the spirit of things."

"I hadn't thought of it as a definition--but it expresses what the real
part of life means to me. Men and women move about life and affairs,
knowing nine out of ten times what is going to happen next in their
wheel of things; what their neighbour is going to say next, from the
routine of the day's events. After a little of that, I have to run
away--to a book, to a task, to an awakened imagination. Only those who
are in a measure like us can liberate us. That's the key to our
friendships, our affections and loves. We seek those who set us
free--they have a cup to hold the vital things we have to give--a
surface to receive. If they are in a measure our true kin--our dynamics
is doubled. That's the secret of affinities, by the way----"

The teacher smiled at me. "Tell me more about the little girl," she
said.

"... She learned so quickly from the processes of Nature. I found her
sitting in the midst of the young corn last summer, where the ground was
filled with vents from the escaping moisture. I told her about the root
systems and why cultivation means so much to corn in dry weather. She
read one of Henry Ward Beecher's _Star Papers_ and verified many of its
fine parts. She finds the remarkable activities in standing water. The
Shore is ever bringing her new studies. Every day is Nature's. The rain
is sweet; even the East winds bring their rigour and enticements. She
looks every morning, as I do, at the Other Shore. We know the state of
the air by that. And the air is such drink to her. You have no idea how
full the days are."

"You mean to make a writer of her?" the teacher asked.

"No--that was settled the first day. I asked the little g