"Really, you know," said the Doctor, "the tackle is such a bother on this
kind of a fishing trip." At which sage remark Dan's laugh rang out so
freely that the woods on the other side of the little valley gave back
the merry sound.
Dan felt strangely light-hearted and free that day. The Doctor thought
the lad was more like himself than he had been for months. The truth is
that Dan's gladness was akin to the gladness of home-coming. He felt as
one who, having been for long years in a foreign land, returns to his
own country and his own people. He was again a man among his fellow-men,
with no barrier between him and his kind. Once more he was in the world
to which he belonged, and it was a good world.
There was, too, a strange, delightful feeling of nearness to her--the
woman he loved. He had had no word since she left Corinth, nor did he
know where she was. He would never find her again, perhaps, but he no
longer belonged to a world separate and apart from her world. He felt
nearer to her even than when they were together that last time in the
old Academy yard.
Dan was conscious, too, of a sense of freedom--of a broader, fuller life
than he had ever known. Through the old Doctor's timely words, setting
his thoughts into new channels, he had come out of his painful experience
with a certain largeness of vision that made him stronger. He had found
himself. He did not know yet what he would do; he had plans dimly formed,
but nothing fixed.
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