Rain and storm--'tis not such things that count. Many a time some little
joy can come along on a rainy day, and make a man turn off somewhere to
be alone with his happiness--stand up somewhere and look out straight
ahead, laughing quietly now and again, and looking round. What is there
to think of? One clear pane in a window, a ray of sunlight in the pane,
the sight of a little brook, or maybe a blue strip of sky between the
clouds. It needs no more than that.
At other times, even quite unusual happenings cannot avail to lift a man
from dulness and poverty of mind; one can sit in the middle of a
ballroom and be cool, indifferent, unaffected by anything. Sorrow and
joy are from within oneself.
One day I remember now. I had gone down to the coast. The rain came on
suddenly, and I slipped into an open boathouse to sit down for a while.
I was humming a little, but not for any joy or pleasure, only to pass
the time. Æsop was with me; he sat up listening, and I stopped humming
and listened as well. Voices outside; people coming nearer. A mere
chance--nothing more natural. A little party, two men and a girl, came
tumbling in suddenly to where I sat, calling to one another and
laughing:
“Quick! Get in here till it stops!”