The troll went right across on the flat thing that floated in the air, and vanished. This must be the land of enchantment that Julia told about. A wicked wizard has done this thing. A giant will come soon to eat up a little boy. And the trees murmured: “Yes; a wicked wizard has done this thing—a giant will come to eat up a little boy—goodbye, little boy”—and the river said: “Goodbye little boy”—and the great iron chains said: “Goodbye little boy.” The child shrieked: “Papa! Papa! Papa!” Instanter Papa appeared—ah, the good fairy had waved her wand in the enchanted wood! Papa had become concerned at the child’s long absence, and was angry that his son should have gone away without asking permission. He had intended to spank the child; but one look at that upturned face, at those eyes glazed with approaching madness halted him in alarm. “What’s the matter, Sonny? Did something frighten you?” “Oh, Papa, Papa, see the big iron chains hanging in the air, see the two giants turned to stone, see the flat thing floating in the air. A troll just came over it with horses and wagon. I am to be eaten up by a giant. The troll with the magic wagon is coming to get me now. I am to be eaten by a giant, Papa; the trees have just said goodbye, little boy; the river has said goodbye, little boy; Oh, Papa, did the good fairy send you to save me?” Papa, thoroughly alarmed, impulsively said: “Yes, dear”; then, soothingly: “Sonny, you must not listen any more in memory to Julia’s Irish tales. They are not true, now. There are not any giants or goblins, or trolls or elves or even fairies any more anywhere. They lived only in people’s fancy long ago, when Ireland was young. It is only the tales that are told today—for the Irish have ever loved romance. Their heads are filled with queer notions. They imagine things that are not so. Papa lived in Ireland once; he knows what is true. Now we will go to the bridge and see it all.”
“And what is a bridge, Papa?”
“That is what you are to see. Don’t be afraid. It won’t hurt you.”
So they went to the nearby bridge.
As they crossed to the Amesbury side the Father felt the nervous clutch of his child’s hand about his forefinger. His own mind began to clear; now the child’s mind must be cleared. So he explained that the roadway of the bridge was just like any other road, only it was held up over the river by the big iron chains; that the big iron chains did not float in the air but were held up by the stone towers over the top of which they passed and were anchored firmly into the ground at each end beyond the towers; that the roadbed was hung to the chains so it would not fall into the river. That the bridge was so strong that many people and loaded teams could pass over it at the same time; and as he said this, happily some teams and people came and went. Father was clever in making simple explanations of things he knew something about. This expertness came of his long training in teaching little tots to dance. His skill and patience in this respect were fine art. So, gradually, he brought his son out of nightmare-land into the daylight of reality. For shameful fear, he substituted in his son’s heart confidence and courage. Thus was the child-mind freed again to wonder what men could do; to adjust itself to the greater world into which it had been suddenly catapulted from South Reading’s tiny world. Within that little spot of earth he had never seen a river, never a bridge, for neither river nor bridge were there to be seen. On their way to rejoin Mamma, the child turned backward to gaze in awe and love upon the great suspension bridge. There, again, it hung in air—beautiful in power. The sweep of the chains so lovely, the roadway barely touching the banks. And to think it was made by men! How great must men be, how wonderful; how powerful, that they could make such a bridge; and again he worshipped the worker.
Mamma had become alarmed; but Father, on the approach, gave her a hush-sign. Evening was on the wing; dew was in the air; dark Merrimac still flowed, sturgeons still leaped high, a cricket chirped its first, cheerful note. They returned to the dismal house of flour and water.
This child was soon abed; the father sank into deep thought: This would never do; the boy must be protected against himself; he was overexciteable; he must not be let go into the woods alone, nor near any mystic thing. His blood must be cooled—more water; no meat; his mind must be directed to everyday things; he would take him into the active world, to the shipyards, to see ships a-building; he would take him to Plum Island, to get the salt sea air, to see the real ocean, with its ships coming and going under full sail; he would explain all these practical things to him and keep his mind wholesome; he must be educated to realities, disciplined, shown life as it is. And Father, thus ruminating, turned in.
Now they are at the shipyards, father and son. Four or five ships are in progress on the ways; others are being rigged in the slips. One is a skeleton, another almost ready to launch. There is much hubbub; men going here and there. The strident song of the caulking iron saws the air; odor of tar everywhere; fine view of the harbor, craft of all kinds moving this way and
