CHAPTER VII
A TOAD AND A SONG
There had been a period of aimless talk in the rear car after the Minerhad concluded, but this resolved itself finally into a lively discussionregarding the probable quality of the hidden country round about. Somedeclared that there existed only the abomination of desolation whileothers spoke of the amazing wealth concealed beneath the surface of theearth and asserted that neither the Land of Ophir nor Pennsylvania couldendure comparison with the region in which they were now marooned.
"Is this place in the midst of the ore-producing or the coal region?"some one asked, "or is it in neither? How about it, Mr. Miner?"
"I don't know," responded the Miner, "I only know that if it's coal,it's better than metal. When you find coal, you've got something. Whenyou find silver or gold, you don't know how hard it may be to extract itfrom its rock or how soon the find will peter out. Even bonanzas peterout. When you find gold or silver, you're just flirtin'. When you strikea coal bed you've got married."
There was a laugh at the Miner's simile and then a reflection fromanother seeker after information, Mrs. Livingston this time.
"I wonder which is the older, the ore or the coal? It would beinteresting to know."
"I imagine, madam," said the Professor, as he was only known, "that theore deposits, formed by volcanic upheavals, far antedate those of coal,originating from vegetable deposits, great forests, fern-like forests itmay be, which had their being long after earth had become productive.Besides, as I understand, a toad has been taken from a coal mine and thetoad, thus discovered, belongs to a modern order of batrachians."
"Was the toad alive?" was asked.
"So I understand," said the Professor. "It was in a comatose conditionbut revived when brought into the air and light."
There was much comment among the party and then an idea came suddenly tothe Young Lady, who was by no means lacking in sentiment or fancy. "Iwonder," she mused, "what that toad was thinking of during all thecenturies of his dark imprisonment? Mr. Poet," she broke out, "You areto retire to the end of the car and, for one hour, at least, no word mayyou utter. I will find you paper and pencil now, and you may not speakagain until you have written a poem telling of the sensations of thattoad when he was restored to light and air again."
The Poet was gallant. "One cannot do well always under duress," was hisresponse, "but one should certainly make an effort, under thecircumstances. I'll do my best, at least."
And so, amid the laughter of the passengers, he was hustled off to acorner and left to his fancies and his struggle. The conversation wenton and the sufferer in the corner was almost forgotten save, of course,by the Young Lady. It was a little after the hour's end, when heemerged, exhibiting a rather graceful diffidence. And this is what heread:
THE TOAD FROM THE MINES
I am a toad, Squat and grimy and rough and brown, I come from a queer abode, From down, down, down, Where, for centuries, no light Had fallen on my sight, Until, with sudden shock, Parted the rock, Yielded the stony clamps And blazed in my dim eyes the miners' lamps! What view is now unfurled! It is another world From that I left Centuries ago, to which they've brought me Since the black rock was cleft Where thus they caught me. Centuries ago, one day, I was upon a river bank, at play. Nature was very fair; I fed on buzzing insects of the air, Beneath tall palms that grew beside the stream In which huge monsters bathed. It did not seem A world like this at all. It was more grand. The mighty waters washed a teeming land And life was great and fervid. Suddenly Upheaved the land, upheaved the awful sea; The earth was riven; toppling forests bent, To sink and disappear in that vast rent! Down, down, down. The landscape plunged from light and life away And now again, to me alone, 'tis day. How odd it all appears! Encysted in the rock ten thousand years, I am a stranger here; I cannot praise Those who released me; mine are not your ways. In this new life I have no enterprise; The sunshine in my eyes But gives me pain. Put me in some niche of the rock again, It is the only fit abode For me--a prehistoric toad.
There was a buzz of applause as the Poet concluded. Then up rose ColonelLivingston.
"The Toad's experience has made me sentimental and dreamy of mood.Personally, I'd like to have my savage breast soothed by some music.Has anybody a piano? No? Well, we can get along without one. Will notsome one sing? Who can sing? Mr. Stranger,"--and he addressed himself toa recent and as yet unrecognized addition to the party--"you seem toenter into the spirit of the occasion and to enjoy our fancies indulgedhere in this, our preposterously direful strait. Will you sing for us?"
[Music:
1. We are the Dreamers of Dreams, We're the creators of fancies; ... We are whatever it seems, ... The owners of reason that dances. We are the Dreamers of Dreams.
2. We tread the paths that are vagrant, And we do the deeds that are flagrant, ... But ever, without any goad, ... We find our way back to the road. We are the Dreamers of Dreams.
3. For we are the Dreamers of Dreams, etc. ]
And to the amazement of all, the Stranger did not hesitate a moment."Certainly," said he. "I believe in fancies." And this is what he sang:
THE DREAMERS OF DREAMS
We are the Dreamers of Dreams; We are the creatures of fancies; We are--whatever it seems,-- The owners of reason that dances, We are the Dreamers of Dreams.
We tread in the paths that are vagrant, And we do the deeds that are flagrant; But ever without any goad, We find our way back to the road.
For we are the Dreamers of Dreams; We are the creatures of fancies; We are--whatever it seems,-- The owners of reason that dances, We are the Dreamers of Dreams.