Angel Island

"I know," Pete said, "I know. I've changed, too. We all have. Old Frank

is a god. And Honey's grown so that - . Even Ralph's a different man.

Changed - God, I should say I had. It's not only given me a new hold on

things I thought I'd lost-morality, ethics, religion even - but it's

developed something I have no word for - the fourth dimension of

religion, faith."

"It's their weakness, I think, and their dependence." Now it was less

that Billy tried to translate Pete's thought and more that he endeavored

to follow his own. "It puts it up to a man so. And their beauty and

purity and innocence and simplicity - ." Billy seemed to be ransacking

his vocabulary for abstract nouns.

"And that sense you have," Pete broke in eagerly, "of molding a virgin

mind. It gives you a feeling of responsibility that's fairly terrifying

at times. But there's something else mixed up with it - the instinct of

the artist. It's as though you were trying to paint a picture on human

flesh. You know that you're going to produce beauty." Pete's face shone

with the look of creative genius. "The production of beauty excuses any

method, to my way of thinking." He spoke half to himself. "God knows,"

he added after a pause, "whatever I've done and been, I could never do

or be again. Sometimes a man knows when he's reached the zenith of his

spiritual development. I've reached mine. I think they're beginning to

trust us," he added after another long interval, in which silently they

contemplated the moving composition. Pete's tone had come back to its

everyday accent.

"No question about it," Billy rejoined. "If I do say it as shouldn't, I

think my scheme was the right one - never to separate any one of them

from the others, never to seem to try to get them alone, and in

everything to be as gentle and kind and considerate as we could."

"That look is still in their eyes," Pete said. He turned away from Billy

and his face contracted. "It goes through me like a knife - - . When

that's gone - - ."

"It will go inevitably, Pete," Billy reassured him cheerfully. Suddenly

his own voice lowered. "One queer thing I've noticed. I wonder if you're

affected that way. I always feel as if they still had wings. What I mean

is this. If I stand beside one of them with my eyes turned away I always

get an impression that they're still there, towering above my head -

ghosts of wings. Ever notice it?"