gon and put it back where it belongs.
I'll see to the hose."

Anthony gently displaced the fire chief and rolled away the hose. Then he
looked back down the garden and saw his son poking among the ruins of the
fire. "Come here, Tony," he called, "and bring the hook-and-ladder."

Tony came slowly, but without the toy wagon. Anthony stood still. When the
boy reached him he said, "Why didn't you bring the hook-and-ladder cart?"

"'Cause I'm ve chief," Tony responded gravely. "My mens'll bring ve
cart."

"Your men aren't there. You'll have to bring it yourself."

Tony shook his head. "I'm ve chief," he repeated, and looked his father in
the eye. Anthony understood. It was not the first time. There were moments
in one's experience with Anthony Robeson, Junior, when one seemed to
encounter a deadlock in the child's will. Reasoning and commands were apt
at such times to be alike futile. The odd thing about it was that it was
impossible to predict when these moments were at hand. They arose without
warning, when the boy was apparently in the best of tempers, and they did
not seem to be the result of any previous mismanagement on the part of
those in authority over him.

Of one point Anthony, Senior, was sure. The child, like all children, and
possibly more than most, possessed a vivid imagination. When he announced
himself to be a fire chief, there could be no question that he believed
himself to be for the time that which he pretended to be. His father
understood, therefore, that to make progress with the boy it was necessary
to get back to the standpoint of reality before commands could be expected
to take hold. So he sat down on a rustic seat near Juliet's roses and
spoke in a pleasantly matter-of-fact way.

"Yes, you've been a fire chief, son, and a good one. That was a great
game. But the game is over now, and you're not a fire chief any more.
You're Tony Robeson, and the little hook-and-ladder cart is your
plaything. Father wants you to bring it here and put it in its place in
the house. It looks a little bit like rain, and the cart mustn't be left
out to get wet. See?"

But Tony still shook his head. "My men'll put it in," he said, with
calmness undisturbed.

"You haven't any men. You played there were some, but the play is over and
there aren't any men. If you don't put the cart in it may get wet."

"I'm ve chief," said little Tony. "Chiefs don't draw carts."

"When they've turned back to little boys they do