into warmth
upon a curve of the hillside facing southward down the coombe, and almost
close under the second span of the viaduct, where the tall trestles
plunged down among the tree-tops like gigantic stilts, and the railway
left earth and spun itself across the chasm like a line of gossamer, its
criss-crossed timbers so delicately pencilled against the blue that the
whole structure seemed to swing there in the morning breeze. Above it, in
heights yet more giddy, the larks were chiming; and Mr. Molesworth's heart
went up to those clear heights with a sudden lift.

In all the many times he had crossed the viaduct he had never once
guessed--he could not have imagined--how beautiful it looked from below.
He stood and gazed, and drew a long breath. Was it the escape from
dreadful peril, with its blessed revulsion of feeling, that so quickened
all his senses dulled by years of habit? He could not tell. He gave
himself up to the strange and innocent excitement.

Why had he never till now--and now only by accident--obeyed the impulse to
descend this road and explore? He was rich: he had not even the excuse of
children to be provided for: the Bank might surely have waited for one
day. He did not want much money. His tastes were simple--Was not the
happiness at this moment thrilling him a proof that his tastes were simple
as a child's? Lo, too, his eyes were looking on the world as freshly as a
child's! Why had he so long denied them a holiday? Why do men chain
themselves in prisons of their own making?

What had the station-master said? It might be an hour--certainly not less
than forty minutes--before the train could be restarted. Mr. Molesworth
looked at his watch. Forty minutes to explore the road: forty minutes'
holiday! He laughed, pocketed the watch again, and took the road briskly,
humming a song.

Suppose he missed his train? Why, then, the Bank must do without him
to-day, as it would have to do without him, one of these days, when he was
dead. He thought of his fellow-directors' faces, and laughed again.
He felt morally certain of missing that train. What kind of world would
it be if money grew in birds' nests, or if leaves were currency and
withered in autumn? Would it include truant-schools for bankers? . . .

"He that is down needs fear no fall,
He that is low, no pride;
He that is humble ever shall
Have God to be his guide."

"Fulness to such a burden is