catch them as they fly."

His hunger had been satisfied: his spirits began to rise.

"Mother, are you going to eat that piece of biscuit? If not, just
hand it over to me, please."

She looked dryly down at the bread in her fingers: humor was denied
her--that playfulness of purest reason.

David had commenced to collect a plateful of scraps--the most
appetizing of the morsels that he himself had not devoured. He rose
and went out into the porch to the dog.

"Now, mother," he said, reentering; and with quiet dignity he
preceded her into the room adjoining.

His father sat on one side of the fireplace, watching the open door
for the entrance of his son. He appeared slightly bent over in his
chair. Plainly the days of rough farm-work and exposure were over
for him, prematurely aged and housed. There was about him--about
the shape and carriage of the head--in the expression of the eye
most of all, perhaps,--the not wholly obliterated markings of a
thoughtful and powerful breed of men. His appearance suggested that
some explanation of David might be traceable in this quarter. For
while we know nothing of these deep things, nor ever shall, in the
sense that we can supply the proofs of what we conjecture; while
Nature goes ever about her ancient work, and we cannot declare that
we have ever watched the operations of her fingers, think on we
will, and reason we must, amid her otherwise intolerable mysteries.