He talked with me--not _to_ me--about the birds and the trees and the sunsets, and then about the deeper things of life, until, before I realized it, I was sane and sensible once more, serene and happy in the simple faith of my childhood, with all the isms and ologies a mere bad dream in the dim past.
I was seventeen, if I remember rightly, when I became worried, not over my heavenly estate now, but my earthly one.

I must have a career, of course.

No namby-pamby everyday living of dishes and dusting and meals and babies for me.

It was all very well, of course, for some people.

Such things had to be.