He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. But this wild scheme was speedily abandoned; and, nerved by despair, the carpenter resolved to hazard an attempt, from the execution, almost from the contemplation, of which he had hitherto shrunk. Time after time he sent Spurlock into this corner or that; but always the boy regained his feet before the murderous boot could reach the mark. The poor child! What frightful things she must have seen on that island of hers! The noise of crashing glass caused a diversion; and Ruth turned gratefully toward the sound. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. Late in July he finished the fourth story.
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