“S-h-h!” said Delia. “God did.”
“I don’t believe it,” I announced flatly.
“Well,” said Delia, “anyway, he makes us sleepy.”
This I also challenged. “Then why am I sleepier when I go to church evenings than when I play Hide-and-go-seek in the Brice’s barn evenings?” I submitted.
This was getting into theology, and Delia used the ancient method.
“We aren’t supposed to know all those things,” she said with superiority, and the council broke up.
That night I brought my revolt into the open. At eight o’clock I was disposing the articles in my play-house so that they all touched, in order that they might be able to talk during the night. It was well-known to me that inanimate objects must touch if they would carry on conversation. The little red chair and the table, the blue paper-weight with a little trembling figure inside, the silver vase, the mug with “Remember me” in blue letters, the china goat, all must be safely settled so that they might while away the long night in talk. The blue-glass paper weight with the horse and
