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 of it,—that the experience itself, wasn't anything. And then he looked about him and laughed again. 'Why,' he said, 'I thought that this was going to be the end of everything; but it isn't the end of anything, it is the starting place;—it is where I begin all over again, and I haven't a thing left to be afraid of.

Marjorie sat and looked at the man when she had finished, but he still gazed off, gloomily, over the valley. "He hadn't lost his grip," he said dismally.

Marjorie stood up. "Forget your grip," she said, "and take hold!"

The man only shook his head dejectedly.

Marjorie glanced around at the Dream, but he only grinned a bit teasingly, and so she turned back and drew a long breath. "I knew a boy once," she said, "who could lift more than any other boy in school. He wasn't a very big boy, and he didn't look particularly strong and wasn't particularly good at wrestling; but when it came to lifting anything heavy, he could always do a lot better than anybody else. The other boys, bigger than he was, would try and try; and he would just casually come along and pick the thing right up. Everyone used to wonder about it; and one day he told me how he did it. He said that he never hefted it first. The other boys would try it, and heft it, and try to guagegauge [sic] its weight, and lift at it; but he never did anything