Page:Roads to Childhood (1920).pdf/15

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CHAPTER ONE

ROADS TO CHILDHOOD


And the little roads of Cloonagh go
rambling through my heart.

Eva Gore-Booth.


Cornish road has fallen in, fallen in, fallen in;
 Cornish road has fallen in;
Where has it gone to?


I sang the words under my breath to the tune of London Bridge. A new road built to shorten the distance from one Maine village to another had sunk overnight—had vanished from the face of the earth. People drove from far and near to see the place where the road had been. Old inhabitants proclaimed once more the folly of building new roads to save time. It was far better, they said, to take time to climb over a mountain and feel safe than to risk a road built over a swamp.

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