h a deep, hoarse voice resonant like a foghorn. The little man
had an enormous chest matted with dense, black hair. It would almost
have made a whole head of hair for an average man. One could always see
this hair because he was proud of its possession, thought it denoted
virility and strength, and wore his shirt open at the neck, and several
buttons lower, in order to reveal his full hirsuteness.

Millie had already given birth to two children of her own, by him. And
she toiled about the house at endless duties, day and night, happy with
him, and loving his children and hers with an equal love. And being
adored in turn by them.

It was "Ma!" here and "Ma!" there ... the voices of the children ever
calling for her.... And she, running about, waiting on the youngsters,
baking ovensful of bread, sewing, scrubbing, dusting ... and talking,
talking, talking all the time she flew about at her ceaseless work....

Uncle Dick loved his joke, and the broader the better. As I sat across
the table from him, at mealtimes, and looked into his amused, small
twinkling eyes, I thought continually of the Miller in Chaucer's
_Canterbury Tales_....

Millie, too, was not slow at having her joke. She was roughly
affectionate of me, in memory of old days. And she continually asked me,
with loud, enjoying laughter, if I remembered this, that, and the other
bad (Rabelaisan) trick I had played on her back in Mornington....

* * * * *

But I was glad to see Haberford and the East again. I was all over my
desire to die a poet, and young.... Principal Balling had me come to see
him. He examined me in Latin and in English and History. He found that,
from study by myself, I had prepared so that I was more than able to
pass in these subjects. But when it came to mathematics I was no less
than an idiot. He informed my father that he had been mistaken in me,
before ... that he had given me a too cursory look-over, judging me
after the usual run ... he announced that he would admit me as special
student at the Keeley Heights High School.

The one thing High School gave me--my Winter there--was Shelley. In
English we touched on him briefly, mainly emphasising his _Skylark_. It
was his _Ode to the West Wind_ that made me want more of him ... with
his complete works I made myself a nuisance in class, never paying
attention to what anyone said or did, but sitting there like a man in a
trance, and, with Shelley, dreaming