movement. His father stood at one end of the living-room, his mother at
the other, and the horse with himself on it was being pushed rapidly
back and forth between them.

He could even hear his own joyous shouts as his father sent the horse
careering across the floor by an extra strong push. The general
impression left behind by the whole scene was one of happiness so acute
that nothing else in his life compared with it.

Was it a real memory? If so, when did it happen? And what had become of
the horse?

Finally the pressure from within became too strong and he blurted out
the whole story to his mother in order to make sure of what it meant.

"You never had a horse large enough to sit on," she declared
emphatically.

"You have been dreaming, child," Granny put in.

"What would the neighbours below have said," his mother continued. "And
the rag carpets on the floor would have caught the wheels, anyhow."

Removing the rag carpets except for purposes of cleaning was one of the
unforgivable sins, by the bye.

"And it isn't like your father either," Granny added after a while, not
without a suggestion of bitterness in her voice.

"Carl is always tired when he comes home," Keith's mother rejoined in a