He saw the need of every hundredth man at least, arising to repeat this sentence around the world--arising from his pain and husks like the Younger Son, and returning to the joy of the Father’s House.... Something was singing in him from his thought of _children_. “We’re too old,” he thought, meaning the millions of men caught in the world as he had been, “but the children could learn. They could change----” He had turned to the bow. Fleury was a nearer shadow, sitting, head bowed forward. The Mother’s head lay back against Bellair’s coat, the child across her knees.... That faint grey light was about her. He had not noted this at first; it seemed to have come from the moment of contemplation--something like starlight, something like the earth-shine that Fleury explained. Her lips were parted, and her eyes seemed held shut, not as if she slept but as if she were thinking of something dear to her--her face wasted a little. He saw it more clearly than the faintness of the light would suggest--and to Bellair’s breast came a sudden sense of her expectancy. It seemed she were awake, but lying back with eyes shut awaiting a lover, her face wasted a little from the burning of expectation. For a moment it was very beautiful to him. Then all was spoiled--for the personal entered. Almost before he had any volition in the matter, his mind had flashed across the interval of space between them--as if he were the one to bring that token to the parted lips. He shook his head with impatience, and the miseries of the hour rushed home to his mind. ... Fleury was awake and they were whispering, the woman still asleep. “The plan of the world is for joy,” Bellair said wearily. “We are all taught that it is a vale of tears--that’s the trouble--taught that we must grab what we can.” “If we won’t learn from joy--we’ve got to take the pain,” said the preacher. “We’ve got to get out of the conception of time and space as the world sees it to catch a glimpse of the joy of the plan. We are in the midst of a superb puzzle. To those who see only the matter and not the meaning, life is an evil country, a country of dragons and monsters. But there’s a soul to it all, and man has a soul. If a man begins to use his soul to see and think with, the puzzle begins to unfold. A man’s soul isn’t of matter. It’s a pilgrim come far, far to go--very eager to get this particular journey through matter ended----” “But why make the journey?” “To learn evil.” “The Younger Son wasted himself afield----”