God never allows waste.

And we fools rub our eyes and wonder, when we see genius come out of the gutter.

It didn't begin there.

We tell ourselves that Shakespeare was the son of a woolpedlar, and Napoleon of a farmer, and Luther of a peasant, and we hold up our hands at the marvel.

But who knows what kings and prophets they had in their ancestry!" After that we turned in, and as I lay looking at the frosty stars a fancy wove itself in my brain.