A concluding sniff left it plain that Potts had been put beyond the pale of gentility by Clem. He left me then to do his work in the kitchen--left me back on a battle-field, lying hurt beside an officer from his land who tried weakly to stanch a wound in his side as he addressed me. "A hot charge, sir--but we rallied--hear that yell from our men behind the woods. 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. The train now sped across country at such terrific speed that the small Sullivan at the throttle, an artist and a realist, crouched low, with eyes strained upon the track-head, with one hand tightly holding on his Sunday cap. Another Sullivan was fireman, fiercely shovelling imaginary coal; still another at the side of the box grasped the handle of the brake as one ready to die at his post if need be. The last Sullivan paced the length of the wagon-box, being thrown from side to side with fine artistry by the train's jolting. He arrogantly demanded tickets from passengers supposedly both to relinquish these. And in his wake went the official most envied by all the others. With a horse's nose-bag upon his arm my namesake chanted in pleading tones above the din, "Peanuts--freshly buttered popcorn--Culver's celebrated double-X cough drops, cool and refreshing!" But the tragic eminence of the game was occupied by my woman child. Perched in the middle of the high seat, her short legs impotently projecting into space, she was the only passenger on this train--and she, for whose sole behoof the ponderous machinery was operated, in whose exclusive service this crew of trained hirelings toiled--she sat aloft indignant, with tear-wet face, her soul revolted by the ignominy of it.