Still they listened.

Then at last, if the wind allowed, they heard the water of the tap drumming into the kettle, which their mother was filling for morning, and they could go to sleep in peace.
So they were happy in the morning--happy, very happy playing, dancing at night round the lonely lamp-post in the midst of the darkness.

But they had one tight place of anxiety in their hearts, one darkness in their eyes, which showed all their lives.
Paul hated his father.

As a boy he had a fervent private religion.
"Make him stop drinking," he prayed every night.

"Lord, let my father die," he prayed very often.