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The girls, blanching, shrank against the opposite cave-wall, which shuddered behind them. A bat, flying low, a winged Fear, brushed Tanpa's cheek, as she stood, transfixed, and her cry was almost as hysterical as theirs. In the blackness of that Tinker's Pot behind the looming fissure, were there other things other things besides a boy, a broken braggart of a boy? Was Death in the pot with him?
The hard obstruction of the cave-wall, the sharp nudge of his mother's nose, the smashing stroke of her paw, the hunger unappeased of several famines, had borne in upon him that all was not freedom in the world, that to life there was limitations and restraints. These limitations and restraints were laws. To be obedient to them was to escape hurt and make for happiness.
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