No More Learning

He did not like the idea much. The lounger in him did not
enjoy the thought of London. Gradually his mind wandered away into
scheming--infinite scheming--what would he do if he went, what would he
do if he did not go?

A beetle, attracted by the faint sunlight, had crawled out of its hole.
It saw the paper and crept on to it, the better to catch the sunlight.
Sherman saw the beetle but his mind was not occupied with it. 'Shall I
tell Mary Carton? ' he was thinking. Mary had long been his adviser and
friend. She was, indeed, everybody's adviser. Yes, he would ask her
what to do. Then again he thought--no, he would decide for himself. The
beetle began to move. 'If it goes off the paper by the top I will ask
her--if by the bottom I will not. '

The beetle went off by the top.
He got up with an air of decision and
went into the tool-house and began sorting seeds and picking out the
light ones, sometimes stopping to watch a spider; for he knew he must
wait till the afternoon to see Mary Carton. The tool-house was a
favourite place with him. He often read there and watched the spiders
in the corners.

At dinner he was preoccupied.

'Mother,' he said, 'would you much mind if we went away from this? '

'I have often told you,' she answered, 'I do not like one place better
than another. I like them all equally little. '

After dinner he went again into the tool-house. This time he did not
sort seeds--only watched the spiders.


III

Towards evening he went out. The pale sunshine of winter flickered
on his path. The wind blew the straws about. He grew more and more
melancholy. A dog of his acquaintance was chasing rabbits in a field.
He had never been known to catch one, and since his youth had never
seen one, for he was almost wholly blind. They were his form of the
eternal chimera.