Another horseman followed quickly at the heels of the first; but just as he passed the spot where Jack stood, his steed missed its footing, and fell. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. Nothing has been touched since. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books.
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