When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. We had left Miles indoors, on the red cushion of a deep window seat; he had wished to finish a book, and I had been glad to encourage a purpose so laudable in a young man whose only defect was an occasional excess of the restless. I quickly, by way of answer, felt for my letter, drew it forth, held it up, and then, freeing myself, went and laid it on the great hall table. --I have a book at home, said Stephen, in which I have written down questions which are more amusing than yours were.
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