The old man arose from the cot and moved about the room.  The overcoat he wore was wet from the rain and drops of water kept falling with a soft thump on the floor.  When he again sat upon the cot George Willard got out of the chair and sat beside him.

“I had a feeling about her.  She sat there in the room with me and she was too big for the room.  I felt that she was driving everything else away.  We just talked of little things, but I couldn’t sit still.  I wanted to touch her with my fingers and to kiss her.  Her hands were so strong and her face was so good and she looked at me all the time.”

The trembling voice of the old man became silent and his body shook as from a chill.  “I was afraid,” he whispered.  “I was terribly afraid.  I didn’t want to let her come in when she knocked at the door but I couldn’t sit still.  ‘No, no,’ I said to myself, but I got up and opened the door just the same.  She was so grown up, you see.  She was a woman.  I thought she would be bigger than I was there in that room.”

Enoch Robinson stared at George Willard, his childlike blue eyes shining in the lamplight.  Again he shivered.  “I wanted her and all the time I didn’t want her,” he explained.  “Then I began to tell her about my people, about everything that meant anything to me.  I tried to keep quiet, to keep myself to myself, but I couldn’t.  I felt just as I did about opening the door.  Sometimes I ached to have her go away and never come back any more.”

The old man sprang to his feet and his voice shook with excitement.  “One night something happened.  I became mad to make her understand me and to know what a big thing I was in that room.  I wanted her to see how important I was.  I told her over and over.  When she tried to go away, I ran and locked the door.  I followed her about.  I talked and talked and then all of a sudden things went to smash.  A look came into her eyes and I knew she did understand.  Maybe she had understood all the time.  I was furious.  I couldn’t stand it.  I wanted her to understand but, don’t you see, I couldn’t let her understand.  I felt that then she would know everything, that I would be submerged, drowned out, you see.  That’s how it is.  I don’t know why.”

The old man dropped into a chair by the lamp and the boy listened, filled with awe.  “Go away, boy,” said the man.  “Don’t stay here with me any more.  I thought it might be a good thing to tell you but it isn’t.  I don’t want to talk any more.  Go away.”

George Willard shook his head and a note of command came into his voice.  “Don’t stop now.  Tell me the rest of it,” he commanded sharply.  “What happened?  Tell me the rest of the story.”