I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. 256 Lucy chose her words carefully.
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