It is much easier to believe with the parents. The enchantment of spring and sunshine, the allure of unvisited and undreamed places unfolding before a child’s eyes, and straying from flower to flower, wonder to wonder, depth to depth. And at the end of the adventure, disaster; at the wane of the sunshine, that darkness that clouds all living. It is more pleasant to think of the matter so, to believe that Jimmy Glass, four years in the world, was but a forthfarer into the mysteries, who lay down at the end of mighty explorations and went to sleep--a Babe in the Woods. XIII THE FATES AND JOE VAROTTA On an afternoon in the autumn of 1920, Salvatore Varotta took his eldest son for a ride on Long Island. Perhaps it was not quite the right thing to do. The big motor truck did not belong to him. His employers might not like the idea of a child being carted about the countryside in their delivery van. Still, what did it matter? The day had been hot. Little Adolfo had begged to go. No one would ever know the difference, and the boy would be happy. So this simple-hearted Italian motor driver set out from the reeks and throngs of New York’s lower East Side on what was to be a pilgrimage of pleasure. There was a cool wind in the country and the landscape was still green. The truck chauffeur enjoyed his drive as he rolled by fields where farmers were at their late plowing. The nine-year-old Adolfo sat beside him, chattering with curiosity or musing in pure delight. After all, it was a bright and perfect world, for all men’s groans and growls. Presently, Salvatore came to a crossing. Another truck lurched drunkenly across his path. There was a horrid shriek of collision, the shattering tinkle of glass, the crunch of riven steel. Salvatore Varotta was tossed aside like a cork and landed in the ditch. He picked himself up and staggered instinctively toward the wreck and little Adolfo. There was a volcanic spout of flame as one of the tanks blew up. The undaunted father plunged into the smoke and managed to draw out the boy, cut and crushed and burned to pitiful distortions, but breathing and alive. Adolfo was carried to Bellevue Hospital suffering from a frightfully cut and burned face and a crushed leg. The surgeons looked at the mangled child and shook their heads. There was a chance of putting that wretched leg into some kind of shape again, and it might be possible to restore that ruined face to human semblance, but the work would take many months. It would cost a good deal of money, in spite of free hospital accommodations and the gratuitous services of the doctors.