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that all the wonders of the world happened on the other side of those hills. There was the home of the good fairies who performed beautiful miracles. [He smiles.] I believed in fairies then, although I suppose I ought to have been ashamed of it from a boy’s standpoint. But you know how contemptuous of all religion Pa’s always been—even the mention of it in the house makes him angry.

—Yes. [Wearily.] It’s just the opposite to our house.

—He’d bullied Ma into being ashamed of believing in anything and he’d forbidden her to teach Andy or me. There wasn’t much about our home but the life on the farm. I didn’t like that, so I had to believe in fairies. [With a smile.] Perhaps I still do believe in them. Anyway, in those days they were real enough, and sometimes—I suppose the mental science folks would explain it by self-hypnosis—I could actually hear them calling to me in soft whispers to come out and play with them, dance with them down the road in the dusk in a game of hide-and-seek to find out where the sun was hiding himself. They sang their little songs to me, songs that told of all the wonderful things they had in their home on the other side of the hills; and they promised to show me all of them, if I’d only come, come! But I couldn’t come then, and I used to cry sometimes and Ma would think I was in pain. [He breaks off suddenly with a laugh.] That’s why I’m going now, I suppose. For I can still hear them calling, although I’m a man and