It's a trite comparison, I suppose."
"You talk as if you stood safely on the shore," I ventured. "Is life no
ocean to you, then--and do you never feel adrift upon it?"
The Philosopher stared curiously at me. It was, I admit, a strange
speech for me to make to him, but I had not been thinking of him. I had
been thinking of Lad, my big boy, now away at school, and of the day
when he should reach this experience for himself, and I should have to
give him up--my one near tie. I should surely feel adrift in that
day--far adrift.
"Does it seem to you like that?" he asked, very gently, after a minute.
I looked up, and saw a new and quite strange expression in his kindly
eyes. "No, no," I said hastily. "How could it--with so many and such
good friends?"
I think he would have questioned me further, but the Skeptic at that
moment turned my way, and I laid hold upon him--figuratively
speaking--and did not let go again till all danger of a discussion with
the Philosopher on the subject of my loneliness was past.
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