The Man | Page 4

race,
and suited well with the voluptuous curves of the full, crimson lips. The
purple-black eyes, the raven eyebrows and eyelashes, and the fine
curve of the nostrils spoke of the Eastern blood of the far-back wife of
the Crusader. Already she was tall for her age, with something of that
lankiness which marks the early development of a really fine figure.
Long-legged, long-necked, as straight as a lance, with head poised on
the proud neck like a lily on its stem.
Stephen Norman certainly gave promise of a splendid womanhood.
Pride, self-reliance and dominance were marked in every feature; in her
bearing and in her lightest movement.
Her companion, Harold An Wolf, was some five years her senior, and
by means of those five years and certain qualities had long stood in the
position of her mentor. He was more than six feet two in height,

deep-chested, broad-shouldered, lean-flanked, long-armed and big-
handed. He had that appearance strength, with well-poised neck and
forward set of the head, which marks the successful athlete.
The two sat quiet, listening. Through the quiet hum of afternoon came
the voices of the two children. Outside the lich-gate, under the shade of
the spreading cedar, the horses stamped occasionally as the flies
troubled them. The grooms were mounted; one held the delicate-limbed
white Arab, the other the great black horse.
'I would rather be an angel than God!'
The little girl who made the remark was an ideal specimen of the
village Sunday-school child. Blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked, thick-legged,
with her straight brown hair tied into a hard bunch with a much-
creased, cherry-coloured ribbon. A glance at the girl would have
satisfied the most sceptical as to her goodness. Without being in any
way smug she was radiant with self-satisfaction and well-doing. A
child of the people; an early riser; a help to her mother; a good angel to
her father; a little mother to her brothers and sisters; cleanly in mind
and body; self-reliant, full of faith, cheerful.
The other little girl was prettier, but of a more stubborn type; more
passionate, less organised, and infinitely more assertive. Black- haired,
black-eyed, swarthy, large-mouthed, snub-nosed; the very type and
essence of unrestrained, impulsive, emotional, sensual nature. A seeing
eye would have noted inevitable danger for the early years of her
womanhood. She seemed amazed by the self-abnegation implied by her
companion's statement; after a pause she replied:
'I wouldn't! I'd rather be up at the top of everything and give orders to
the angels if I chose. I can't think, Marjorie, why you'd rather take
orders than give them.'
'That's just it, Susan. I don't want to give orders; I'd rather obey them. It
must be very terrible to have to think of things so much, that you want
everything done your own way. And besides, I shouldn't like to have to
be just!'

'Why not?' the voice was truculent, though there was wistfulness in it
also.
'Oh Susan. Just fancy having to punish; for of course justice needs
punishing as well as praising. Now an angel has such a nice time,
helping people and comforting them, and bringing sunshine into dark
places. Putting down fresh dew every morning; making the flowers
grow, and bringing babies and taking care of them till their mothers
find them. Of course God is very good and very sweet and very
merciful, but oh, He must be very terrible.'
'All the same I would rather be God and able to do things!'
Then the children moved off out of earshot. The two seated on the
tombstone looked after them. The first to speak was the girl, who said:
'That's very sweet and good of Marjorie; but do you know, Harold, I
like Susie's idea better.'
'Which idea was that, Stephen?'
'Why, didn't you notice what she said: "I'd like to be God and be able to
do things"?'
'Yes,' he said after a moment's reflection. 'That's a fine idea in the
abstract; but I doubt of its happiness in the long-run.'
'Doubt of its happiness? Come now? what could there be better, after
all? Isn't it good enough to be God? What more do you want?'
The girl's tone was quizzical, but her great black eyes blazed with some
thought of sincerity which lay behind the fun. The young man shook
his head with a smile of kindly tolerance as he answered:
'It isn't that--surely you must know it. I'm ambitious enough, goodness
knows; but there are bounds to satisfy even me. But I'm not sure that
the good little thing isn't right. She seemed, somehow, to hit a bigger
truth than she knew: "fancy having to be just."'

'I don't see much difficulty in that. Anyone can be just!'
'Pardon me,' he answered, 'there is perhaps nothing so difficult in the