"What have you got there, Mark?" he asked, seating himself on the bank.

"Just a sort of--wheel," the boy said, looking up and smiling. "The water turns it."

"What does it do?"

"Nothing. Just turns."

"It's real pretty."

"Yeah, isn't it?"

"That was nice the way you fixed those tongs," Marakas said, plucking a piece of grass and chewing it. "Your mother liked that."

"It was easy."

"You enjoy fixing things and making things, making things work---don't you?"

"Yes."

"Think that's what you'd like to do for a living some day?"

"I think so."

"Old Vince is going to be looking for an apprentice down at the forge one of these days. If you think you'd like to learn smithing, working with metals and such--I could speak with him."

Mark smiled again.

"Do that," he said.

"Of course, you'd be working with real, practical things." Marakas gestured toward the water-spun wheel. "Not toys," he finished.

"It isn't a toy," Mark said, turning to look back at his creation.

"You just said that it doesn't do anything."

"But I think it could. I just have to figure what--and how."

Marakas laughed, stood and stretched. He tossed his blade of grass into the water and watched the wheel mangle it.

"When you find out, be sure to tell me."

He turned away and started back toward the path.

"I will ..." Mark said softly, still watching it turn.

When the boy was six years old, he went into his father's office to see once again the funny machine Dad used. Maybe this time--

"Dan! Get out of here!" bellowed Michael Chain, a huge figure, without even turning away from the drawing board.

The little stick figure on the screen before him had collapsed into a line that waved up and down. Michael's hand played across the console, attempting adjustments.

"Gloria! Come and get him! It's happening again!"