Зима тревоги нашей

           Thethingswecouldn’texplainwentrightonbutsurelynotwithourblessing.Wedidnotseewhatwecouldn’texplain,andmeanwhileagreatpartoftheworldwasabandonedtochildren,insanepeople,fools,andmystics,whoweremoreinterestedinwhatisthaninwhyitis.Somanyoldandlovelythingsarestoredintheworld’sattic,becausewedon’twantthemaroundusandwedon’tdarethrowthemout.

           Asingleunshadedlighthungfromaroofbeam.Theatticisflooredwithhand-hewnpineplankstwentyincheswideandtwoinchesthick,amplesupportfortheneatstacksoftrunksandboxes,ofpaper-wrappedlampsandvasesandallmannerofexiledfinery.Andthelightglowedsoftlyonthegenerationsofbooksinopenbookcases—allcleananddustless.MyMaryisasternanduncompromisingdustharrierandsheisneatasatopsergeant.Thebooksarearrangedbysizeandcolor.

           Allenrestedhisforeheadonthetopofabookcaseandglareddownatthebooks.HisrighthandwasonthepommeloftheKnightTemplarsword,pointdownwardlikeacane.

           "Youmakeasymbolicpicture,myson.Callit‘Youth,War,andLearning.’"

           "Iwanttoaskyou—yousaidtherewasbookstolookupstuff."

           "Whatkindofstuff?"

           "Patrioticjazz,fortheessay."

           "Isee.Patrioticjazz.How’sthisforbeat?‘Islifesodearorpeacesosweetastobepurchasedatthepriceofchainsandslavery?Forbidit,AlmightyGod!Iknownotwhatcourseothersmaytake,butasforme,givemelibertyorgivemedeath!’"

           "Great!That’stheberries."