Free The Pilgrim's Regress by C. S. Lewis Page B

house is this?’ said Vertue when the servant opened to them.
    â€˜This is Mr. Sensible’s house,’ said the servant. ‘And if you are benighted travellers he will receive you gladly.’
    Then he brought them into a room where a lamp was burning clearly, but not very brightly, and an old gentleman was seated by a blazing wood fire with his dog at his feet and his book on his knees and a jig-saw puzzle at one side of him spread out on a wooden frame, and on the other a chessboard with the pieces set for a problem. He rose to greet them very cordially but not hastily.
    â€˜You are very welcome, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Sensible. ‘Pray come and warm yourselves. Drudge’ (and here he called to the servant) ‘make some supper ready for three: the usual supper, Drudge. I shall not be able to offer you luxury, gentlemen. The wine of my own country, cowslip wine, shall be your drink. It will be rough to your palates, but to mine the draught that I owe to my own garden and my own kitchen will always have a flavour beyond Hippocrene. The radishes, also of my own growing, I think I may venture to praise. But I see by your looks that I have already betrayed my foible. I confess that my garden is my pride. But what then? We are all children, and I reckon him the wisest among us that can make most sport out of the toys suitable to that condition, without seeking to go beyond it. Regum oequabit opes animis. Contentment, my friends, contentment is the best riches. Do not let the dog tease you, sir. He has mange. Down, Rover! Alas, Rover! thou little knowest that sentence is passed upon thee.’
    â€˜You are surely not going to destroy him, sir?’ said John.
    â€˜He begins to ail,’ said Mr. Sensible. ‘And it would be foolish to keep him longer. What would you? Omnes eodem cogimur. He has lain in the sun and hunted fleas enough, and now, poor fellow, he must go quo dives Tullus et Ancus. We must take life on the terms it is given us.’
    â€˜You will miss your old companion.’
    â€˜Why, as to that you know, the great art of life is to moderate our passions. Objects of affection are like other belongings. We must love them enough to enrich our lives while we have them—not enough to impoverish our lives when they are gone. You see this puzzle here. While I am engaged on it it seems to me of sovereign importance to fit the pieces together: when it is done I think of it no more: and if I should fail to do it, why I would not break my heart. Confound that Drudge. Hi! whoreson, are we to wait all night for our supper?’
    â€˜Coming, sir,’ said Drudge from the kitchen.
    â€˜I think the fellow goes to sleep over his pots and pans,’ said Mr. Sensible, ‘but let us occupy the time by continuing our conversation. Good conversation I reckon among the finer sweets of life. But I would not include diatribe or lecturing or persistent discussion under that head. Your doctrinaire is the bane of all talk. As I sit here listening to your opinions— nullius addictus —and following the ball wherever it rolls, I defy system. I love to explore your minds en deshabille. Nothing comes amiss— j’aime le jeu, l’amour, les livres, la musique, la ville et la champagne—enfin tout! Chance is, after all, our best guide—need I call a better witness than the fortunate cast of the dice which has brought you beneath my roof to-night?’
    â€˜It wasn’t exactly chance,’ said Vertue, who had been restlessly waiting to speak. ‘We are on a journey and we are looking for a way to cross the Grand Canyon.’
    â€˜ Haud equidem invideo, ’ said the old gentleman. ‘You do not insist on my accompanying you?’
    â€˜We hadn’t thought of it,’ said John.
    â€˜Why then I am very willing that you should go!’ cried Mr. Sensible with a burst of melodious laughter. ‘And yet to what end? I often amuse myself with