“You thought I should be angry?”
“Y-yes, I was afraid.”
He did not know how innocently he avenged himself and paid off old scores. March was silent for a minute, then he said in a low voice: “It’s just. It’s my own fault.”
He stooped and took the child’s face gently between his hands, kissed his forehead and went out alone to wrestle with his pain and anxiety.
As this tale began so it ends at the pool in the landslip. Perry lay beside the stream apparently none the worse for his fall of the year before. Dennis sitting cross-legged beside the little rock basin watched the water. March was talking with his son; following the direction of Perry’s smiling eyes he saw Dennis. Dennis’s pictures were less frequent now and his “stories” were less marvellous. The press of outer interest which crowded in was doing its work. March looked at the boy as he rose and stood beside him and laid his hand on his head:
“Seeing pictures?” he asked with a half-mocking laugh. March’s position was a very illogical one and he was semi-conscious of the fact. The child looked up and nodded.
“What nonsense,” said March, “it’s all fancy. If there was anything to see why shouldn’t I see it?”
“Come, father,” said Perry laughing, “why can’t I tell ‘Rule Britannia’ from ‘God save the King?’”
“Nonsense! I tell you it’s a rampant medieval superstition that’s got hold of you. As for Denny he’s a little donkey.”