glance converged with Mary's rightward glance, and neither was looking
far beyond the other at this time. It also happened that, though they
were a little jostled among groups of people in the vicinity of the
church, they passed this somewhat prominent edifice without being
aware of their proximity to it, and they had gone an incredible number
of blocks beyond it before they discovered their error. However,
feeling that they might be embarrassingly late if they returned, they
decided that a walk would make them as good. It was a windless winter
morning, with an inch of crisp snow over the ground. So they walked,
and for the most part they were silent, but on their way home, after
they had turned back at noon, they began to be talkative again.

"Mary," said Bibbs, after a time, "am I a sleep-walker?"

She laughed a little, then looked grave. "Does your father say you
are?"

"Yes--when he's in a mood to flatter me. Other times, other names.
He has quite a list."

"You mustn't mind," she said, gently. "He's been getting some pretty
severe shocks. What you've told me makes me pretty sorry for him,
Bibbs. I've always been sure he's very big."

"Yes. Big and--blind. He's like a Hercules without eyes and without
any consciousness except that of his strength and of his purpose to
grow stronger. Stronger for what? For nothing."

"Are you sure, Bibbs? It CAN'T be for nothing; it must be stronger
for something, even though he doesn't know what it is. Perhaps what