he
cottage, caught sight of that little idyll under the dappled sunlight,
green, and blossom. It was something from the core of life, out of the
heartbeat of things--like a rare picture or song, the revelation of
the childlike wonder and delight, to which all other things are but the
supernumerary casings--a little pool of simplicity into which fever and
yearning sank and were for a moment drowned. And quite possibly he would
have gone away without disturbing them if the dog had not growled and
wagged his tail.

But when the children had been sent down into the field he experienced
the usual difficulty in commencing a talk with Tod. How far was his big
brother within reach of mere unphilosophic statements; how far was he
going to attend to facts?

"We came back yesterday," he began; "Nedda and I. You know all about
Derek and Nedda, I suppose?"

Tod nodded.

"What do you think of it?"

"He's a good chap."

"Yes," murmured Felix, "but a firebrand. This business at
Malloring's--what's it going to lead to, Tod? We must look out, old man.
Couldn't you send Derek and Sheila abroad for a bit?"

"Wouldn't go."

"But, after all, they're dependent on you."

"Don't say that to them; I should never see them again."

Felix, who felt the instinctive wisdom of that remark, answered
helplessly:

"What's to be done, then?"

"Sit tight." And Tod's hand came down on Felix's shoulder.

"But suppose they get into real trouble? Stanley and John don't like
it; and there's Mother." And Felix added, with sudden heat, "Besides, I
can't stand Nedda being made anxious like this."

Tod removed his hand. Felix would have given a good deal to have been
able to see into the brain behind the frowning stare of those blue eyes.

"Can't help by worrying. What must be, will. Look at the birds!"

The remark from any other man would have irritated Felix profoundly;
coming from Tod, it seemed the unconscious expression of a really felt
philosophy. And, after all, was he not right? What was this life they
all lived but a ceaseless worrying over what was to come? Was not all
man's unhappiness caused by nervous anticipations of the future? Was
not that the disease, and the misfortune, of the age; perhaps of all the
countless ages man had lived through?

With an effort he recalled his thoughts from that far flight. What if
Tod had rediscovered the secret of the happiness that belonged to birds
and lilies of the field--such overpowering inte