Miss Cameron presently drew Hugh into conversation again, and the old times were once more forgotten for a season.  They were worthy of distinguishing note—­that trio in those spring woods:  the boy waking up to feel that flowers and buds were lovelier in the woods than in verses; Euphra finding everything about her sentimentally useful, and really delighting in the prettinesses they suggested to her; and Hugh regarding the whole chiefly as a material and means for reproducing in verse such impressions of delight as he had received and still received from all (but the highest) poetry about nature.  The presence of Harry and his necessities was certainly a saving influence upon Hugh; but, however much he sought to realize Harry’s life, he himself, at this period of his history, enjoyed everything artistically far more than humanly.

Margaret would have walked through all this infant summer without speaking at all, but with a deep light far back in her quiet eyes.  Perhaps she would not have had many thoughts about the flowers.  Rather she would have thought the very flowers themselves; would have been at home with them, in a delighted oneness with their life and expression.  Certainly she would have walked through them with reverence, and would not have petted or patronised nature by saying pretty things about her children.  Their life would have entered into her, and she would have hardly known it from her own.  I daresay Miss Cameron would have called a mountain a darling or a beauty.  But there are other ways of showing affection than by patting and petting—­though Margaret, for her part, would have needed no art-expression, because she had the things themselves.  It is not always those who utter best who feel most; and the dumb poets are sometimes dumb because it would need the “large utterance of the early gods” to carry their thoughts through the gates of speech.

But the fancy and skin-sympathy of Miss Cameron began already to tell upon Hugh.  He knew very little of women, and had never heard a woman talk as she talked.  He did not know how cheap this accomplishment is, and took it for sensibility, imaginativeness, and even originality.  He thought she was far more en rapport with nature than he was.  It was much easier to make this mistake after hearing the really delightful way in which she sang.  Certainly she could not have sung so, perhaps not even have talked so, except she had been capable of more; but to be capable of more, and to be able for more, are two very distinct conditions.

Many walks followed this, extending themselves farther and farther from home, as Harry’s strength gradually improved.  It was quite remarkable how his interest in everything external increased, in exact proportion as he learned to see into the inside or life of it.  With most children, the interest in the external comes first, and with many ceases there.  But it is in reality only a shallower form of the deeper sympathy; and in those cases where it does lead to a desire after the hidden nature of things, it is perhaps the better beginning of the two.  In such exceptional cases as Harry’s, it is of unspeakable importance that both the difference and the identity should be recognized; and in doing so, Hugh became to Harry his big brother indeed, for he led him where he could not go alone.