For the children Night meant play and mischief; for himself it
meant graver reverie....
These were the chambers, clearly, of ancestral sleep and dream: they
seemed so familiar and well known. Behind him blinked the little
friendly fire in the forest, link with the outer world he must not
lose. He would find the children there when he went back, lively from
their scamper among the stars; and, meanwhile, he was quite content to
wander down these corridors in the floor of Night and taste their deep
repose. For years he had not visited or known them. The children had
led him back, although he did not realise it. He believed, on the
contrary, that it was he who led and they who followed. For true
leadership is ever inspired, making each follower feel that he goes
first and of his own free will....
'Jimbo, you flickery sprite, where are you now?' he called, suddenly
noticing how faint the little fire had grown with distance.
A lonely wind flew down upon him with a tiny shout:
'Up here, at the very top, with Daddy. He's making notes in a tower-
room all by himself!'
Rogers could not believe his ears. Daddy indeed!
'Is Monkey with you? And is she safe?'
'She's helping Daddy balance. The walls aren't finished, and he's on a
fearful ledge. He's after something or other for his story, he says.
Pages:
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354