On his way home today, Martin had bought two small gold-colored pencils for the children. Each pencil was in its own box, and the girl in the shop had wrapped the boxes in white tissue paper and tied them with red ribbon. They were out in his coat pocket in the hall now, together with a special present he had bought for Delia in the same shop, and he wanted to get them and put them on the kitchen table so that they wouldn’t be forgotten. He knew Delia had the rest of the children’s presents hidden in the kitchen. He’d better do it now, while he was thinking about it. He went out into the hall, shutting the door quickly after him to keep the heat in the sitting room, and as he fumbled in his pocket for the pencils he heard Delia talking to the children in the room upstairs. Her voice was low, but it was very calm and definite, as though she were explaining something to them, or even laying down the law about something. He had the pencils now and he stood very still. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, only her voice, and once or twice he thought he heard the children whispering to her. It was very peaceful standing there in the hall, very peaceful and comfortable, although the hall was a bit cold after the warmth of the sitting room. But he felt very comfortable, very content. All of a sudden he felt at peace with the world and with the future. It was as though the weight of the world had fallen from his shoulders, and he hadn’t known the weight of the world was on his shoulders, or even that he was worried. In a few years he would be making a bit more money, and then things would be easier. He had no desire to know what Delia was saying, or to go up there and join in. That was all between her and the children. He would only upset her if he went up there now — he would wait till she called him. It was dark in the hall except for the faint light filtering through the glass panels in the front door from the street lamp outside. He listened to Delia’s voice, so quiet and authoritative, and he had the feeling he was spying on them. Well, what if he was. He didn’t often have the chance to watch them like this, in the gloaming, as it were. How big this little house was, that it could contain them all separately. He might have been a thousand miles away, for all they knew of him. They thought he was in there in the room reading the evening paper, when in fact he was a thousand miles above them, watching them and watching over them. Where would they all be if it weren’t for him. Ah, but they held him to earth. He had to laugh when he thought of the might-have-been. He might have traveled. There was very little chance now that he would see the capitals of the world. He never knew for sure whether Delia and the children were his anchor or his burden, and at the moment he didn’t much care. He had seldom felt as much at peace with himself as he did now. It would be nice to fall asleep like this, happy like this, and then wake up in the morning to find that the world was easy. He had often thought the house cramped, and imagined it held him down, but tonight he knew that he could stretch his arms up through this hall ceiling and on up through the roof and do no damage and that no one would reproach him. There was plenty of room. He was as free as any man, or at least as free as anybody could be in this day and age. Now he would run down to the kitchen with the pencils. Delia would be calling him any minute. But the light was switched on on the landing above, and Delia appeared at the head of the stairs and saw him.