"No. Well, that's nearly the whole tale already. He found it as a cub. They grew up together, played together, the lion learning not to unsheath his claws, the woodcutter's son trying to roar like a lion, but 'tis said he made only some poor squeaking sounds that carried no great distance. They were yet friends when the lion was full grown, but then the poor brute in some manner sickened, fretted, vanishing at whiles and returning unwillingly, until at length the woodcutter's stupid son did arrive at one moment of wisdom, and took his friend into the forest and said to him, 'Go thy way.'" "I am no lion." "Marry come up, I am a shade more learned than that woodcutter's son. Ben, I'm only trying to say I don't think anyone should try to possess you, as I suppose Uncle John does, as maybe I've done--but if you wish to sail, if it's your decision and your heart in it, d'you think I'd impede you? Supposing I could?" "No, I don't think you would." "And I will not," said Reuben, and jumped off the desk. "I'm for Mr. Welland's, by the back fields. Best change thy jacket, Ben--that one beareth the slight saffron memory of an egg which hath gone before. I'll saddle Molly for thee, meanwhile." When Ben rejoined him in the stable, Reuben had nothing more to say, except the light random murmuring that Molly enjoyed. Ben led her out into the yard--not in sight of Mr. Hibbs' window. Reuben said again, unnecessarily: "I'll go by the fields, you by the road." As Reuben held the bridle, Ben was bewildered at his reluctance to set his foot in the stirrup. "Ru, what ails thee? It's not as if we were saying a good-bye." "No. Why, man, if you sail, I also--well, I hope it turns out as you wish. I believe Uncle John heeds what you say, more than you suppose. Why the knife, little Benjamin?" "Oh, I might be in the city after dark. I rather missed it that other night, coming home." "Well, tuck it under your britches, can't you?--so to look less like a bloody cutthroat and more like my little brother?" "Very well.... Ru, I don't know how to say this--lately I've been some-way troubled about thee." "Oh, why, why? Have I two heads?--but don't answer that." "As if we no longer understood each other--my fault, I think." "It is not. It is not even true." Reuben still held the bridle, his face stiff and white and smiling. "No cause for trouble about me. I am one of the fortunate, didn't you know?" "I don't understand." "I own a shield. I walk in the woods. I read the _Anatomy_ of Vesalius, and the books you bought for me. And I told you, Ben--they do not fade." "Ay, there's that. Still, if I live to be a thousand I don't suppose I'll ever understand you." "Must you, Ben?" "I try." "I have never understood another, and yet I think about them as much as you do." "But--oh, I _don't_ know how to say it--I don't think I meant that kind of understanding. There's more than one kind...."