But we were both pledged to secrecy, and I couldn’t reveal my part for fear that I would lose my place. When he begins to notice things, I want you to trap his interest, to amuse him, keep his thoughts from reverting to his misfortunes. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. There was another little thing he had to say. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. CHAPTER IV.
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