“That one,” said Polecrab, pinching the boy’s ear, “may perhaps grow up to be a second Broodviol.”

“Who was that?” demanded the boy, bending his head forward to hear the answer.

“A big, old man, of marvellous wisdom.  He became wise by making up his mind never to ask questions, but to find things out for himself.”

“If I had not asked this question, I should not have known about him.”

“That would not have mattered,” replied the father.

The youngest child was paler and slighter than his brothers.  His face was mostly tranquil and expressionless, but it had this peculiarity about it, that every few minutes, without any apparent cause, it would wrinkle up and look perplexed.  At these times his eyes, which were of a tawny gold, seemed to contain secrets difficult to associate with one of his age.

“He puzzles me,” said Polecrab.  “He has a soul like sap, and he’s interested in nothing.  He may turn out to be the most remarkable of the bunch.”

Maskull took the child in one hand, and lifted him as high as his head.  He took a good look at him, and set him down again.  The boy never changed countenance.

“What do you make of him?” asked the fisherman.

“It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, but it just escapes me.  Let me drink again, and then I shall have it.”

“Go and drink, then.”

Maskull strode over to the tree, drank, and returned.  “In ages to come,” he said, speaking deliberately, “he will be a grand and awful tradition.  A seer possibly, or even a divinity.  Watch over him well.”

The eldest boy looked scornful.  “I want to be none of those things.  I would like to be like that big fellow.”  And he pointed his finger at Maskull.

He laughed, and showed his white teeth through his beard.  “Thanks for the compliments old warrior!” he said.

“He’s great and brawny” continued the boy, “and can hold his own with other men.  Can you hold me up with one arm, as you did that child?”

Maskull complied.

“That is being a man!” exclaimed the boy.  “Enough!” said Polecrab impatiently.  “I called you lads here to say goodbye to your mother.  She is going away with this man.  I think she may not return, but we don’t know.”

The second boy’s face became suddenly inflamed.  “Is she going of her own choice?” he inquired.

“Yes,” replied the father.

“Then she is bad.”  He brought the words out with such force and emphasis that they sounded like the crack of a whip.

The old man cuffed him twice.  “Is it your mother you are speaking of?”

The boy stood his ground, without change of expression, but said nothing.

The youngest child spoke, for the first time.  “My mother will not come back, but she will die dancing.”

Polecrab and his wife looked at one another.

“Where are you going to, Mother?” asked the eldest lad.