Mr. Literal lost patience. "Very well," he said, "but you know it's true that Imagination—I believe he calls himself Will o'Dreams—is not a giant as he's been represented here."
She replied calmly, "The greatest giant of all: the forerunner of every dream, of every deed!"
But Mr. Literal had reserved his most crushing argument for the last. "Well," said he, "it is certainly not true that Everychild has a little dog for a companion!"
And now for an instant Truth seemed really confused. But after faltering a moment she overcame her confusion. She smiled and beamed with real good will. "Perhaps not," said she, "but ah, Everychild should have!"
But Mr. Literal was not to be conciliated. "And as for your not having a mask on any more, as Everychild would have it, that's nonsense. It's there, just the same as ever."
"To you—yes, I know," she replied.
"To every one!" he exclaimed irritably. "I'll leave it to the world."
"Let us see," she said; and she turned to her son, Will o'Dreams, with a significant smile.
It seemed that he understood; for he faced the painted curtains with sudden purposefulness. He held his arms aloft—and all the curtains began to ascend. The result was almost bewildering.
In one place was the great shoe, just as we have seen it before, and all about it were the Old Woman's sons and daughters, seemingly the happiest children in the world. Their mother was smiling contentedly.