“I have a feeling about that property, Josiah. Let’s hold on to it. For good luck, dear.” “I can’t afford to.” “But, Josiah--listen. You seem to have forgotten. That money of mine. It ain’t much. And it’s true--we was always going to let it lie, collecting interest for the children. But it’s not enough to count, that way. And it will pay that tax, for some time to come. Let’s take a chance, Josiah. Let’s be daring--and--and take a chance. Let’s hold on to the land.” She stopped, because somehow--despite the trifling subject--there were too many tears. Her husband jumped up and faced her. “I’ve got no hold on your money,” he said sharply. “Josiah!” He felt the pain expressed in her reproach. The knowledge of it made him uncomfortable. He saw that the one decent thing which he could do was to accept. “All right, Sarah,” he spoke stiffly,--“if you’re fool enough to want it,” and left the room. IV Quincy lies on his back. He is at the age when one feels most completely, and yet when one’s world is most completely logical. Soon, his first birthday will be celebrated and the campaign of dwarfing his emotions, battering down the one sufficient Rationale of life that he will ever have, will be on foot. Innumerable projections from an indigestible world will come to trouble him. But now, everything that he absorbs, he absorbs literally. All of it becomes the stuff of himself, as surely as the milk he sucks. In his own world, he is omniscient and omnipresent. None the less, he lies sprawling on his back. He is alone in the room. He is crying. His mother enters. By now, he can distinguish her. The first state of his life is already buried; the woman that first gave him milk is a mere quality that he has transferred into this other woman. So, they are one in his sense and in his heart. For the most active portion of Quincy’s mind is still the portion that forgets. Each new event brings its deposit of sensation, departs, and leaves no trace. He is still All. And no thing is sensed by him except in its deposit. The wealth of sensation mounts. The causes flash up, die out. But his mother is a comforting exception. Somehow, she has a being of her own, constant, separate from what she does for him. She is Quincy’s first lesson in objectivity. And so, he places out his little hands to grasp her. For the idea of Self is still unshakable within him. And in what follows, it is forever proven to be right....