You can't beat us. We needn't be told that. Whatever God is,
he's at least a gentleman, above practical jokes of that sort." He
groaned as the blood oozed anew from his side, then pleaded with me to
help him find the picture--to look under him and all about on the
ground. Long I mused upon this, but at last my pipe was out, and I awoke
from that troubled spot where God's little creatures had clashed in
their puny rage--awoke to know that this was my day to wander in another
world--the dream world of children, where everything is true that ought
to be true.
CHAPTER VII
"A WORLD OF FINE FABLING"
Solon Denney's home, in charge of Mrs. Delia Sullivan, late of Kerry,
was four blocks up the shaded street from my own. Within one block of
its gate as I approached it that morning, the Sabbath calm was riven by
shouts that led me to the back of the house. In the yard next to
Solon's, Tobin Crowder, of Crowder & Fancett, Lumber, Coal and Building
Supplies, had left a magnificent green wagon-box flat upon the ground, a
thing so fine that it was almost a game of itself. An imagination of
even the second order could at once render it supremely fascinating. My
two babes, collaborating with four small Sullivans, had by child magic,
which is the only true magic, transformed this box into a splendid
express train.
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