The village had gathered by the river, for a hard choice had to be made. Should they build a great stone bridge across the water, or keep the old wooden ferry that had carried them for a hundred years? Two grandchildren spoke, and their grandmother listened to both.
The elder sibling spoke first, and firmly, for the bridge. "A bridge would change everything. Carts could cross in minutes, not hours; traders would come; the village would grow rich. Look at Millford downstream — the year they built their bridge, their market doubled and new houses rose along the road."
The younger sibling answered, just as warmly, for the ferry. "But the ferry feeds the ferryman and his children — take it away and they starve. And think of the crossing itself: it is slow, yes, but it is where we meet. On that little boat the whole village talks, news is shared, quarrels are settled. Lose the ferry and we lose each other."
The grandmother had listened fairly to both, and now she gave her verdict. "Each of you is right. So we will build the bridge — the village must not be left behind. But the ferryman shall become its toll-keeper, and once a week the crossing shall be free, so we still meet upon the water." Both sides had been heard; her own mind was clear.