He arrived at this result more quickly than he might otherwise
have done through remembering something he had once heard his aunt say
about "kissing the soil." This had impressed him and stuck by him
perhaps by reason of its brevity; when later on he came to know the
story of Hercules and Antaeus, lie found it one of the very few
ancient fables which had a hold over him- his chiefest debt to
classical literature. His aunt had wanted him to learn carpentering,
as a means of kissing the soil should his Hercules ever throw him.
It was too late for this now- or he thought it was- but the mode of
carrying out his aunt's idea was a detail; there were a hundred ways
of kissing the soil besides becoming a carpenter.
He had told me this during our interview, and I had encouraged him
to the utmost of my power. He showed so much more good sense than I
had given him credit for that I became comparatively easy about him,
and determined to let him play his own game, being always, however,
ready to hand in case things went too far wrong. It was not simply
because he disliked his father and mother that he wanted to have no
more to do with them; if it had been only this he would have put up
with them; but a warning voice within told him distinctly enough
that if he was clean cut away from them he might still have a chance
of success, whereas if they had anything whatever to do with him, or
even knew where he was, they would hamper him and in the end ruin him.
Pages:
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498