And so, about my mind and yours,
Thought dances, shoots, and wastes its powers,
Coming and going,
Aimlessly flowing,
Until the Pole Star of the Will
Captains them wisely, strong, and still,
Some dream for others to fulfil
With consecration.
Selected Poems, Montmorency Minke.
There was a certain air of unreality somewhere in the life at
Bourcelles that ministered to fantasy. Rogers had felt it steal over
him from the beginning. It was like watching a children's play in
which the scenes were laid alternately in the Den, the Pension, and
the Forest. Side by side with the grim stern facts of existence ran
the coloured spell of fairy make-believe. It was the way they mingled,
perhaps, that ministered to this spirit of fantasy.
There were several heroines for instance--Tante Jeanne, Mademoiselle
Lemaire, and Mother; each played her role quite admirably. There were
the worthy sterling men who did their duty dumbly, regardless of
consequences--Daddy, the Postmaster, and the picturesque old clergyman
with failing powers. There was the dark, uncertain male character, who
might be villain, yet who might prove extra hero--the strutting
postman of baronial ancestry; there was the role of quaint pathetic
humour Miss Waghorn so excellently filled, and there were the honest
rough-and-tumble comedians--half mischievous, half malicious--the
retired governesses.
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