panes; they see the lights of happy firesides--the lights of home; but
they never get in.... You are one of these wanderers, William.... And so,
it is well for you that before your playing time is over--before your
man's work begins,--you're going to know the great secret. Happy boy! No
coarsening of your child's heart, until you stand before the world like
Frederik; no sweat and toil such as dear old James is facing; no dimming
of the eye and trembling of the hand such as the poor old Doctor shall
know in time to come; no hot tears to blister your eyes, ... tears such as
Katie is shedding now; but, in all your youth, your faith--your
innocence,--you'll fall asleep and oh! the awakening, William!... "It is
well with the _child_." [WILLIAM _lays down the cake and, clasping his
hands, thinks._ PETER _answers his thoughts._] What? No--don't think of
it! Nonsense! You _don't_ want to grow up to be a man. Grow up to fail?
Or, still worse--to succeed--to be famous? To wear a heavy laurel wreath?
A wreath to be held up by tired hands that ache for one hour's freedom.
No, no, you're to escape all that, William; joy is on the way to meet you
with sweets in its outstretched hands and laughter on its lips. [WILLIAM
_takes the last swallow of a piece of cake, exclaims_ "Hm!" _in a
satisfied way, brushes the crumbs off his lap, and sits back in his
chair._] Have you had enough? Good! William, I want you to try to
understand that you're to help me, will you? Will you tell Miss Catherine
that--

WILLIAM. [_Without looking up, his hands folded in his lap._] Take me back
with you, Mr. Grimm?

PETER. Can you see me, William?

WILLIAM. No, sir; but I know.