Bowron nodded thoughtfully. "It was that way with most of my pupils. It was more comfortable to dream of the past than to cope with the current hardships. It seemed to arouse some dormant instinct in all of us—" He broke off and sighed. "Would you like to hear another of the stories?"
"Very much!"
Bowron studied the bright moon. "Well—once in the far and long ago, there was a man named Smith, who lived in a big city...."
When the tale was done, Oluf seemed deeply moved. "I believe," he said slowly, "that I'll go with you to the Southland. You might easily perish on the way, and such words as yours must live to give others comfort and hope—for we may yet find living gods in some remote corner of the world. It must have been wonderful," he mused sleepily, "to have lived in companionship with the gods—with men." He curled up comfortably, paws tucked in, and laid his nose across his bushy tail.