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This was one of the things, the young man remembered, his mother had not attempted to explain. So the mother looked upset and turned away, lliere were many things to which she did not have the answers.

For this reason she did not go much with the other women, who knew, most of them, most tilings, and if they didn’t, it wasn’t worth knowing. She continued to read, the Teimyson with brass hasps and the violets pressed inside, the spotted Shakespeare that had been in a flood, and the collection of catalogues, annuab, recipe books, and a cyclopaedia and gazetteer that composed her dis- tinguished and protective reading.

How much of will, how much of fate, entered into this it was diificult to say. But he had not continued to do any of these things for long, because he knew that it was not intended.

‘There goes young Stan,* people said, pulling down their mouths and blowing the air through their noses, because, they felt, here was somebody assailable.

He shiv- 12 ered, and leaned forward, and raked at the fragments of red fire, so that they shot up into the night on a fresh lease. On the fringe of firelight stood the young horse, his knees bent, trailing from his head the nosebag, now empty and forgotten. Night had settled on the small cocoon of light, threatening to crush it.

Already the walls of their wooden house were being folded back.

The pepper tree invaded his pillow, and the dust of the road was at his feet.

The God of Parker the father, the boy saw, was essentially a fiery God, a gusty God, who appeared between belches, accusing with a horny finger. And, if anything, this was the God that the boy himself suspected and feared ratlicr than liis mother’s gentleness. At Willow Creek, God bent the trees till they streamed in th(!

vtnnd like beards, He rained upon the tin roofs till even elders grew thoughtful, and smaller, and yellower, by the light of smoking lamps, and He cut the throat of 11 old Joe Skinner, who was nothing to deserve it, not that anyone knew of, he was a decent old cuss, who liked to feed birds with crusts of bread.He had sprung out, without unpleasantness, he was what you would call a good lad, good to his mother and all that, but somehow a separate being. So far, mystery was not his personal concern, doubts were still faint echoes.