“Yes. You see, I saw the buildings and forgot the men; and the buildings were so tall and silent against Heaven. And then I came to see the people, and suddenly I knew the city was like the swamp, always restless and changing.”
‚ÄúAnd more beautiful?‚Äù suggested Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool, slipping her arms into her lounging-robe.
‚ÄúOh, no; not nearly so beautiful. And yet‚ÅÝ‚Äîmore interesting.‚Äù Then with a puzzled look: ‚ÄúI wonder why?‚Äù
“Perhaps because it’s people and not things.”
“It’s people in the swamp,” asserted Zora, dreamily, smoothing out the pillows of the couch, “ ‘little people,’ I call them. The difference is, I think, that there I know how the story will come out; everything is changing, but I know how and why and from what and to what. Now here, every thing seems to be happening; but what is it that is happening?”
‚ÄúYou must know what has happened, to know what may happen,‚Äù said Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool.
“But how can I know?”
“I’ll get you some books tomorrow.”
“I’d like to know what it means,” wistfully.
“It is meaningless.” The woman’s cynicism was lost upon Zora, of course, but it possessed the salutary effect of stimulating the girl’s thoughts, encouraging her to discover for herself.
“I think not; so much must mean something,” she protested.