yet thrilled, there seems to come a sudden lull;
and then I perceive a goodness showing through the rough-and-readiness,
sometimes blurred in the individual lives, sometimes inspired to a full
glow. Often its leaps and flickerings are irregular, inconsistent,
unpredictable. In the ruffian the spark is scarcely alive, but in some
rare moment it will quicken and show through tremblingly.

"And all these perceptions to which I was blind before have wrought
their effect on me. They have fused into and strengthened the better
part of me. They make poetry in me, not such as I once wrote, but a
full-blooded, living poetry. You see, father, I have drawn inspiration
from all this reality. I have felt the true spirit of the universe in
this dense-packed encampment on the march of civilisation, this living
pattern in Time's kaleidoscope; the same spirit that lies behind the
green country and the sweet airs, behind a great idea, a noble deed, a
gracious woman.

"And so I feel that I am fortified enough to defy all external
sordidness. The soiled lime-washed walls, the heavy grind of
machinery, and the tinged breath of the printing-house I am insensible
to; and with this result I am satisfied. I will not take up my harp
wherewith to gather harmonies from amid the discords of things, as I
feel it is in me to do. If such dream comes to me at times I know it
must remain a dream, for I must continue with my shoulder to the wheel
and do my full share of human labour!"

He broke off. An almost sacred stillness followed his half-mused
speech, to which Archibald had listened with bent head.

"Will you forgive me, dear Morgan, if I remind you of something?" said
the old man, breaking the long silence. "I feel you are the best judge
of your own life, and I do not mean to say a word that should make you
imagine I am trying to interfere with you. I only want to ask you not
to forget that we at home have claims upon you as well. We want to
have you near us a little, too. Your mother has been fretting about
you of late."

"My mother!" said Morgan. "Is she aware of my existence? She never
cared about me."

"But she cares about you now. Won't you come home to us when you are
through this--in three years' time, say?" pleaded the old man. "Your
end will have been achieved, you will feel sure of yourself by then.
And, to tell the truth, Morgan, I've set my heart on--your being a
great poet."

Archibald looked down almost guiltily as he spoke.