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“If they lay a finger on that trap,” said Elmer, “I’ll—” The cords in his neck stood out and his hands became claws. Of course Robert the Horrible would hack the boy’s work of love to pieces if he saw it. “Pour le sport, pour le sport,” he said bitterly.

Elmer tried to daydream of murdering Robert the Horrible, but the dream was as frustrating as life—a search for weaknesses where there were no weaknesses. The dream ended truthfully, with Robert and his men on horses as big as cathedrals, with Robert and his men in iron shells, laughing behind the bars of their visors, choosing at leisure from their collections of skewers, chains, hammers, and meat-axes—choosing ways to deal with an angry woodcutter in rags.

Elmer’s hands went limp. “If they wreck the trap,” he said flabbily, “we’ll build another one, better than ever.”

Shame for his weakness made Elmer sick. The sickness worsened. He rested his head on his folded arms. When he raised his head, it was to look about himself with a death’s-head grin. He had passed his breaking point.

“Father! Are you all right?” said Ethelbert, alarmed.

Elmer stood shakily. “Fine,” he said, “just fine.”

“You look so different,” said Ethelbert.

“I am different,” said Elmer. “I’m not afraid anymore.” He gripped the edge of the table and shouted. “I’m not afraid!”

“Hush!” said Ivy. “They’ll hear you!”

“I will not hush!” said Elmer passionately.

“You better hush,” said Ivy. “You know what Robert the Horrible does to people who won’t hush.”

“Yes,” said Elmer, “he nails their hats to their heads. But, if that’s the price I have to pay, I’ll pay it.” He rolled his eyes. “When I thought of Robert the Horrible wrecking the boy’s trap, the whole story of life came to me in a blinding flash!”

“Father, listen—” said Ethelbert, “I’m not scared he’s going to wreck the trap. I’m scared he’s going to—”

“A blinding flash!” cried Elmer.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Ivy impatiently, closing the door. “All right, all right, all right,” she said with a sigh, “let’s hear the story of life in a blinding flash.”

Ethelbert tugged at his father’s sleeve. “If I do say so myself,” he said, “that trap is a—”

“The wreckers against the builders!” said Elmer. “There’s the whole story of life!”

Ethelbert shook his head and talked to himself. “If his horse ever steps on the rope that’s hooked up to the sapling that’s hooked up to the—” He bit his lip.

“Are you all through, Elmer?” said Ivy. “Is that it?” Her eagerness to get back to watching the Normans was infuriatingly transparent. He fingered the doorpull.

“No, Ivy,” said Elmer tensely, “I am not through.” He knocked her hand away from the doorpull.

“You done struck me,” said Ivy, amazed.

“All day you have that thing open!” said Elmer. “I wish we didn’t have a door! All day you do nothing but sit in front of the door, watching executions and waiting for the Normans to pass.” He shivered his hands in her face. “No wonder your brains are all fuddled with glory and violence!”

Ivy cringed pitifully. “I just watch,” she said. “A body gets lonely, and it helps to make the time go.”

“You’ve been watching too long!” said Elmer. “And I’ve got more news for you.”

“Yes?” piped Ivy.

Elmer squared his narrow shoulders. “Ivy,” he said, “I am not going to be tax collector for Robert the Horrible.”

Ivy gasped.

“I am not going to help the wreckers,” said Elmer. “My son and I are builders.”

“He’ll hang you if you don’t,” said Ivy. “He promised he would.”

“I know,” said Elmer. “I know.” Fear hadn’t come to him yet. Pain hadn’t come where pain would come. There was only the feeling of having done something perfect at last—the taste of a drink from a cold, pure spring.

Elmer opened the door. The wind had freshened, and the chains by which the dead men hung sang a chorus of slow, rusty squawks. The wind came from over the forest, and it carried to Elmer’s ears the cries of the Norman sportsmen.

The cries sounded strangely bewildered, unsure. Elmer supposed