Out in the friendly, familiar yard, he looked curiously about him, basking in the sudden peace of it.  A light wind stirred in the trees, the sky was a void of blue, the scent of the lilacs came to him.  That was all reassuring; but something more came:  a consciousness that he could translate only as something vast, yet without shape or substance, that opened to him, enfolded him, lifted him.  It was a vision of boundless magnitudes and himself among them—­among them and with a power he could put upon them.  While it lasted he had a child’s dim vision of the knowledge that life would be big for him.  He heard again the confusion of voices, and his own among them, in far spacious places.  He always remembered this moment.  In after years he knew it had been given him then to run an eye along the line of his destiny.

The moment passed; his mind was again vacant.  He picked a green apple from the low tree under which he stood, bit into it, chewed without enthusiasm, then hurled the remnant at an immature rabbit that he saw regarding him from the edge of the lilac clump.  The missile went wild, but the rabbit fled and Bean pursued it.  He was not afraid of a rabbit—­not of a young rabbit.

Returning from the chase, an unavailing one, he believed, only because the game used quite unfair tactics of concealment, he remembered the shell.  A longing for possession seized him.  It was more than that.  The thing was already his; had always been his.  Yet he foresaw complications.  His ownership might be stupidly denied.

He went in to drag Grammer again before the whatnot, his mind sharpened to subtlety.

“Are everything there yours?” He pointed to the top shelf.

“Everything!”

He lowered the pointing finger to the second shelf.

“Are everything there yours?”

“All of ’em!”

“Everything there?”

“Yes, yes!”

“And this one, too?”

“For the land’s sake, yes!” averred Grammer of the choice contents of the fourth shelf.  She was baking pies and found herself a bit impatient of this new game.

“Well, that’s all, now!” and he dismissed her, not daring to inquire as to the lower shelf.  He had seen the way things were going—­a sickening way.  But, having shrewdly stopped at the lower shelf, having prevented Grammer from saying that those valuable objects were also hers, he had still the right to come into his own.  If the shell mightn’t belong to her it might belong to him; therefore it did belong to him; which, as logic, is not so lame as it sounds.  At least it is a workaday average.

It occurred to him once to ask for the shell bluntly.  But reason forbade this.  It was not conceivable that any one having so celestial a treasure would willingly part with it.  When a thing was yours you took it, with dignity, but quietly.

During the remainder of his stay he was not conspicuously an occupant of the front room.  No day passed that he did not contrive at least one look at his wonderful shell, but he craftily did not linger there, nor did he ever utter words about the thing, though these often crowded perilously to his lips.