“Aunt Anne says that is so beautifully illustrated by the view a man of science would take to-day of St. Paul’s words: ‘The eye cannot say to the hand, I have no need of thee.’”
“The point is well taken, as we lawyers say. But that must do for to-day. Come, Tom, you and Bill can smoke your pipes in the middle of the skiff. Put Miss Rose in the bow, I will take the stern.”
“And am I to paddle? What fun!”
“Yes. In with you.” And the boat fled away down the swift waters, with here and there, where the billows rolled high over a deeply hidden rock, a wild roller which swept them on as with the rush of a bird through space, while Rose laughed out the joy of a great delight, for of all modes of motion this is the most satisfying.
“It isn’t difficult,” she said.
“No, and it is a noble exercise. Look! Look, Rose! See that hawk,—no, it is an eagle. Don’t you envy him? What are those lines Anne loves to quote about the hawk and the lark? They are called ‘True Captivity.’”
“I forget all but the last two lines. It contrasts the two prisoners, and says of the lark:
‘He has the heaven which he sings,
But my poor hawk has only wings.’”
“Thank you. There used to be an imprisoned hawk in a cage at the lower clearing. The melancholy of his great yellow eyes so troubled me that I bought him, and, to Churchman’s amazement, opened his cage. The poor old warrior walked out, looked around him, and then walked back again into voluntary captivity.”