“Nay, is thy heart so narrow? Love not at all, if it makes thee petty.”
“But I do not want to come to thee, papa.”
“Then stay away, my son, and come when thou dost want it.”
“I do not think thou lovest me, papa.”
“Nay, when thou art an obstinate monkey, I love thee not. But when thy real manhood comes upon thee, and thou art brave and daring, rather than rash and impudent, then thou wilt be lovable. How can I love thee if thou art not lovable?”
“Mama always loved me.”
“She called thee her own. I do not call thee mine own. Thou art thyself. When thou art lovable, I can love thee. When thou art rash and impudent, nay, I cannot. The mill will not spin when the wind does not blow.”
The boys went away. Ramón watched them as they stood in their black clothes and bare knees upon the jetty, and his heart yearned over them.
“Ah, the poor little devils!” he said to himself. And then:
“But I can do no more than keep my soul like a castle for them, to be a stronghold to them when they need it—if ever they do.”