“It was called the Law of Earthly Living.  It was for every day,” said Marco.  “It was for the ordering of common things—­the small things we think don’t matter, as well as the big ones.  I always remember that one without any trouble.  This was it: 

“’Let pass through thy mind, my son, only the image thou wouldst desire to see become a truth.  Meditate only upon the wish of thy heart—­seeing first that it is such as can wrong no man and is not ignoble.  Then will it take earthly form and draw near to thee.

“’This is the Law of That which Creates.’”

Then The Rat turned round.  He had a shrewdly reasoning mind.

“That sounds as if you could get anything you wanted, if you think about it long enough and in the right way,” he said.  “But perhaps it only means that, if you do it, you’ll be happy after you’re dead.  My father used to shout with laughing when he was drunk and talked about things like that and looked at his rags.”

He hugged his knees for a few minutes.  He was remembering the rags, and the fog-darkened room in the slums, and the loud, hideous laughter.

“What if you want something that will harm somebody else?” he said next.  “What if you hate some one and wish you could kill him?”

“That was one of the questions my father asked that night on the ledge.  The holy man said people always asked it,” Marco answered.  “This was the answer: 

“’Let him who stretcheth forth his hand to draw the lightning to his brother recall that through his own soul and body will pass the bolt.’”

“Wonder if there’s anything in it?” The Rat pondered.  “It’d make a chap careful if he believed it!  Revenging yourself on a man would be like holding him against a live wire to kill him and getting all the volts through yourself.”

A sudden anxiety revealed itself in his face.

“Does your father believe it?” he asked.  “Does he?”

“He knows it is true,” Marco said.

“I’ll own up,” The Rat decided after further reflection—­“I’ll own up I’m glad that there isn’t any one left that I’ve a grudge against.  There isn’t any one—­now.”

Then he fell again into silence and did not speak until their journey was at an end.  As they arrived early in the day, they had plenty of time to wander about the marvelous little old city.  But through the wide streets and through the narrow ones, under the archways into the market gardens, across the bridge and into the square where the “glockenspiel” played its old tinkling tune, everywhere the Citadel looked down and always The Rat walked on in his dream.

They found the hair-dresser’s shop in one of the narrow streets.  There were no grand shops there, and this particular shop was a modest one.  They walked past it once, and then went back.  It was a shop so humble that there was nothing remarkable in two common boys going into it to have their hair cut.  An old man came forward to receive them.  He was evidently glad of their modest patronage.  He undertook to attend to The Rat himself, but, having arranged him in a chair, he turned about and called to some one in the back room.