"And in your garden, the beautiful sweet-smelling plant———"
"The sweet briar," said the Vicar. "I remember."
"And that pink flower that sprang out of the box———"
"Out of the box?" said the Vicar.
"Last night," said the Angel, "that went climbing up the curtains——— Flame!"
"Oh!—the matches and the candles! Yes," said the Vicar.
"Then the animals. A dog to-day behaved most disagreeably——— And these boys, and the way in which people speak——— Everyone seems anxious—willing at any rate—to give this Pain. Everyone seems busy giving pain———"
"Or avoiding it," said the Vicar, pushing his dinner away before him. "Yes—of course. It's fighting everywhere. The whole living world is a battle-field—the whole world. We are driven by Pain. Here. How it lies on the surface! This Angel sees it in a day!"
"But why does everyone—everything—want to give pain? "asked the Angel.
