“Then content you, man Simon, and stay in it.”
“Ah, sir,” he says, “I’ve a mind and a will that makes me serve them.”
“Cats will mouse and larks will sing,” the scholar said, “but you are neither the one nor the other. What you seek is hidden, perhaps hidden for ever; God remove discontent and greed from the world: why should you look on the other side of a wall—what is a wall for?”
The old man was silent.
“How long has this notion possessed you?”
The old man quavered “Since ... since ...” but he could say no more. A green bird flew laughing above them.
“What bird is that—what is it making that noise for?”
“It is a woodpecker, sir; he knows he can sing a song for Sixpence.”
The scholar stood looking up into the sky. His boots were old—well, that is the doom of all boots, just as it is of man. His clothes were out of fashion, so was his knowledge; stripped of his gentle dignity he was but dust and ashes.
“To travel from the world?” he was saying. “That is not wise.”