The humour and pathos
in her had been smothered by too much care. She accepted old age
before her time. He saw her, under other conditions, dancing, singing,
full of Ariel tricks and mischief--instead of eternally mending
stockings and saving centimes for peat and oil and washerwomen. He
even saw her feeding fantasy--poetry--to Daddy like a baby with a
spoon. The contrast made him laugh out loud.
'You've lived here five years,' he went on, 'but lived too heavily.
Care has swamped imagination. I did the same-in the City-for twenty
years. It's all wrong. One has to learn to live carelessly as well as
carefully. When I came here I felt all astray at first, but now I see
more clearly. The peace and beauty have soaked into me.' He hesitated
an instant, then continued. Even if she didn't grasp his meaning now
with her brains, it would sink down into her and come through later.
'The important things of life are very few really. They stand out
vividly here. You've both vegetated, fossilised, atrophied a bit. I
discovered it in my own case when I went back to Crayfield and--'
He told her about his sentimental journey, and how he found all the
creations of his childhood's imagination still so alive and kicking in
a forgotten backwater of his mind that they all hopped out and took
objective form--the sprites, the starlight express, the boundless
world of laughter, fun and beauty.
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