With the appearing of every gold-rimmed face
the boy felt he had won another friend, a friend who would come and
bend above him at night, keeping off the ugly visions which haunted
his pillow--visions of the gnawing monsters about the church-porch,
evil-faced bats and dragons, giant worms and winged bristling hogs,
a devil's flock who crept down from the stone-work at night and
hunted the souls of sinful children through the town. With the
growth of the picture the bright mailed angels thronged so close
about the boy's bed that between their interwoven wings not a snout
or a claw could force itself; and he would turn over sighing on his
pillow, which felt as soft and warm as if it had been lined with
down from those sheltering pinions.
All these thoughts came back to him now in his cave on the
cliff-side. The stillness seemed to enclose him with wings, to fold
him away from life and evil. He was never restless or discontented.
He loved the long silent empty days, each one as like the other as
pearls in a well-matched string.
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