ed for years.

Mr. Literal took a seat at last; and for a moment there was silence in
the room and throughout the old house, save that a window rattled
somewhere in the night breezes. Then Mr. Literal leaned forward
deliberately, his finger tips fitted together and his lips drawn into
very prim lines. And at last he spoke.

"Listen to me, _Mr. Will o'Dreams_: I know you!" His tone was
triumphant, merciless.

But the giant only nodded politely and said, "Very well, Mr. Literal;
and I know you, too!"

"At least," said Mr. Literal icily, "I do not go about under an assumed
name!"

"Nor do I," replied the other.

"It is false!" exclaimed Mr. Literal. "I know you too well. You are
that evil creature, Imagination."

"I am sometimes called so," admitted the giant candidly. "The name has
a somewhat formidable sound. I prefer to be known as Will
o'Dreams--that is all."

"You are trying to evade the truth," declared Mr. Literal. "Well do
you know that if you were to make your real name known, honest folk
would shun you."

The giant only waved his hand lightly. "I will not argue with you," he
said.

"But I have something else to say to you," said Mr. Literal. "Your
statement to those children on the road--that was false too."

"What statement?" inquired the giant, his brows lifting slightly.

"You informed them that you were looking for masterpieces; yet you know
well that your real purpose was to becloud the young minds of those
children--to turn them from the quest of Truth. Dare you deny this?"

"I do indeed. I assert again: I was looking for masterpieces."

"Masterpieces indeed!--in a forest! _There_ are masterpieces"--and he
pointed to the bookcases. "But you were not even looking for my house."

[Illustration: "Masterpieces indeed!--in a forest! _There_ are
masterpieces."]

"I was not thinking of books," admitted the giant.

"I grant, there are other kinds of masterpieces," said Mr. Literal;
"but they are not to be found in a forest."

"Ah, Mr. Literal!" cried the giant. "I would that I might open your
eyes. Believe me, the forest is filled with masterpieces of such
perfection as the hand of man can never know."

"So--then name me one!"

"The tiniest leaf that falls from its stem. Not all the human race
could duplicate it. The humblest plant. The human eye has no power to
take in all its marvels. And as for the trees--what has the world
produced that can match them?"

Mr. Lit