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“
My
eyes
are
the
same
color
as
father
’
s
,
”
said
Paul
,
flying
about
the
room
to
heap
all
available
cushions
on
the
window
seat
,
“
but
father
’
s
hair
is
gray
.
He
has
lots
of
it
,
but
it
is
gray
.
You
see
,
father
is
nearly
fifty
.
That
’
s
ripe
old
age
,
isn
’
t
it
?
But
it
’
s
only
OUTSIDE
he
’
s
old
.
INSIDE
he
’
s
just
as
young
as
anybody
.
Now
,
teacher
,
please
sit
here
;
and
I
’
ll
sit
at
your
feet
.
May
I
lay
my
head
against
your
knee
?
That
’
s
the
way
my
little
mother
and
I
used
to
sit
.
Oh
,
this
is
real
splendid
,
I
think
.
”
“
Now
,
I
want
to
hear
those
thoughts
which
Mary
Joe
pronounces
so
queer
,
”
said
Anne
,
patting
the
mop
of
curls
at
her
side
.
Paul
never
needed
any
coaxing
to
tell
his
thoughts
.
.
.
at
least
,
to
congenial
souls
.
“
I
thought
them
out
in
the
fir
grove
one
night
,
”
he
said
dreamily
.
“
Of
course
I
didn
’
t
BELIEVE
them
but
I
THOUGHT
them
.
YOU
know
,
teacher
.
And
then
I
wanted
to
tell
them
to
somebody
and
there
was
nobody
but
Mary
Joe
.
Mary
Joe
was
in
the
pantry
setting
bread
and
I
sat
down
on
the
bench
beside
her
and
I
said
,
‘
Mary
Joe
,
do
you
know
what
I
think
?
I
think
the
evening
star
is
a
lighthouse
on
the
land
where
the
fairies
dwell
.
’
And
Mary
Joe
said
,
‘
Well
,
yous
are
de
queer
one
.
Dare
ain
’
t
no
such
ting
as
fairies
.
’
I
was
very
much
provoked
.
Of
course
,
I
knew
there
are
no
fairies
;
but
that
needn
’
t
prevent
my
thinking
there
is
.
You
know
,
teacher
.
But
I
tried
again
quite
patiently
.
I
said
,
‘
Well
then
,
Mary
Joe
,
do
you
know
what
I
think
?
I
think
an
angel
walks
over
the
world
after
the
sun
sets
.
.
.
a
great
,
tall
,
white
angel
,
with
silvery
folded
wings
.
.
.
and
sings
the
flowers
and
birds
to
sleep
.
Children
can
hear
him
if
they
know
how
to
listen
.
’
Then
Mary
Joe
held
up
her
hands
all
over
flour
and
said
,
‘
Well
,
yous
are
de
queer
leetle
boy
.
Yous
make
me
feel
scare
.
’
And
she
really
did
looked
scared
.
I
went
out
then
and
whispered
the
rest
of
my
thoughts
to
the
garden
.
There
was
a
little
birch
tree
in
the
garden
and
it
died
.
Grandma
says
the
salt
spray
killed
it
;
but
I
think
the
dryad
belonging
to
it
was
a
foolish
dryad
who
wandered
away
to
see
the
world
and
got
lost
.
And
the
little
tree
was
so
lonely
it
died
of
a
broken
heart
.
”
“
And
when
the
poor
,
foolish
little
dryad
gets
tired
of
the
world
and
comes
back
to
her
tree
HER
heart
will
break
,
”
said
Anne
.
“
Yes
;
but
if
dryads
are
foolish
they
must
take
the
consequences
,
just
as
if
they
were
real
people
,
”
said
Paul
gravely
.
“
Do
you
know
what
I
think
about
the
new
moon
,
teacher
?
I
think
it
is
a
little
golden
boat
full
of
dreams
.
”
“
And
when
it
tips
on
a
cloud
some
of
them
spill
out
and
fall
into
your
sleep
.
”
“
Exactly
,
teacher
.
Oh
,
you
DO
know
.
And
I
think
the
violets
are
little
snips
of
the
sky
that
fell
down
when
the
angels
cut
out
holes
for
the
stars
to
shine
through
.
And
the
buttercups
are
made
out
of
old
sunshine
;
and
I
think
the
sweet
peas
will
be
butterflies
when
they
go
to
heaven
.
Now
,
teacher
,
do
you
see
anything
so
very
queer
about
those
thoughts
?
”
“
No
,
laddie
dear
,
they
are
not
queer
at
all
;
they
are
strange
and
beautiful
thoughts
for
a
little
boy
to
think
,
and
so
people
who
couldn
’
t
think
anything
of
the
sort
themselves
,
if
they
tried
for
a
hundred
years
,
think
them
queer
.
But
keep
on
thinking
them
,
Paul
.
.
.
some
day
you
are
going
to
be
a
poet
,
I
believe
.
”
When
Anne
reached
home
she
found
a
very
different
type
of
boyhood
waiting
to
be
put
to
bed
.
Davy
was
sulky
;
and
when
Anne
had
undressed
him
he
bounced
into
bed
and
buried
his
face
in
the
pillow
.
“
Davy
,
you
have
forgotten
to
say
your
prayers
,
”
said
Anne
rebukingly
.
