ht of life and avoid its pain, is the same in the
intellectual and spiritual spheres as it is in the physical--barrenness,
Nort, and finally a terrible sense of failure and of loneliness."

I said it with all my soul, as I believe it. When I stopped, Nort did
not at once respond, but stood looking off across the river, winding a
twig of alder about his finger. Suddenly he looked around at me,
smiling:

"I'm every kind of a fool there is, David."

I confess it, my heart gave a bound of triumph. And it seemed to me at
that moment that I loved Nort like a son, the son I have never had. I
could not help slipping my arm through his, and thus we walked slowly
together down the road.

"But Ed Smith----" he expostulated presently.

"Nort," I said, "you aren't the only person in this world, although you
are inclined to think so. There are Ed Smiths everywhere--and old
Captains and David Graysons--and you may travel where you like and
you'll find just about such people as you find at Hempfield, and they'll
treat you just about as you deserve. Ed Smith is the test of you, Nort,
and of your enthusiasms. You've got to reconcile your ideas with corned
beef and cabbage, Nort, for corned beef and cabbage _is_."

I have been ashamed sometimes since when I think how vaingloriously I
preached to Nort that day (after having got him down), for I have never
believed much in preaching. It usually grows so serious that I want to
laugh--but I could not have helped it that November afternoon.

* * * * *

I see two men, just at evening of a dull day, walking slowly along the
road toward Hempfield, two gray figures, half indistinguishable against
the barren hillsides. All about them the dead fields and the hedges, and
above them the wintry gray of the sky, and crows lifting and calling.
Knowing well what is in the hot hearts of those two men--the visions,
the love, the pain, the hope, yes, and the evil--I swear I shall never
again think of any life as common or unclean. I shall never look to the
exceptional events of life for the truth of life.

The two men I see are friend and friend, very near together, father and
son almost; and you would scarcely think it, but if you look closely and
with that Eye which is within the eye you will see that they have just
been called to the colours and are going forth to the Great War. You
will catch the glint on the scabbards of the swords they carry; you will
see the lo