But I'm not conscious, old man, of driving anything
deliberately into you--'
'Only you think and feel these things vividly enough for me to get
them too,' said Daddy. Luckily 'thought transference' was not actually
mentioned, or Mother might have left the room, or at least have
betrayed an uneasiness that must have chilled them.
'As a boy I imagined pretty strongly,' in a tone of apology, 'but
never since. I was in the City, remember, twenty years--'
'It's the childhood things, then,' Daddy interrupted eagerly. 'You've
brought the great childhood imagination with you--the sort of
gorgeous, huge, and endless power that goes on fashioning of its own
accord just as dreams do--'
'I _did,_ indulge in that sort of thing as a boy, yes,' was the half-
guilty reply; 'but that was years and years ago, wasn't it?'
'They have survived, then,' said Daddy with decision. 'The sweetness
of this place has stimulated them afresh. The children'--he glanced
suspiciously at his wife for a moment--'have appropriated them too.
It's a powerful combination. After a pause he added, 'I might develop
that idea in my story--that you've brought back the sweet creations of
childhood with you and captured us all--a sort of starry army.'
'Why not?' interpolated Mother, as who should say there was no harm in
_that_.
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