Robin Hood's Barn 



I myself have dared to question this authoritative 

 dictum, had not its spokesman later lowered his 

 eyes from spiritual realms to the kingdom of this 

 earth. A little further on, where he had placed 

 the essentials of geography meetly following the 

 essentials of religion, there was another list, this 

 time of our great rivers — and in their midst I 

 hailed the Mississippi with a burst of pride. Not 

 national, mind you. Personal. I stiU could spell 

 it. My tongue was already playing hop-scotch 

 with its double consonants as in more agile days. 

 "I-double-s, i-double-s, i-double-p," I had made 

 it and landed firm on the last i. But there I 

 stopped dismayed. Flowing just beneath it, rac- 

 ing it, almost outrunning it across the page, was 

 the Piscataqua of Maine. By a more successful 

 imposition than Mahomet's, it had disguised its 

 real importance and taking on false dignity, was 

 out on masquerade. 



I like to think how many years it sidled by and 

 went uncaught. For I am on the side of all pre- 

 tenders, whether they lay claim to a mantle of 

 green hills and snowy mountain sources or to 

 the mantle of Elijah; whether it be Mahomet the 



[38] 



