"What do you mean?" asked Jockie.
"Well, fust, you see, God builded me a baby; that's when I couldn't do nuffin myself, and God builded me all by Hisself. Then He went on building me taller, a little bit at a time, until I was builded into a boy; now I've got to build a little myself, and build all kinds of bwicks on me; and God just hold His hand over mine so I don't make no mistakes. He's building me up gooder every day."
"Oh," said Monica, "I hope I see the goodness coming, Chuckles; but you don't grow in that direction very fast."
Chuckles cocked his head on one side like some saucy sparrow.
"The bwicks don't stick always," he asserted; "sometimes they tummles off; 'specially the bwick this week—it's to do what you're told quick, and it won't stick."
"Did you teach him all this, Miss Urquhart?" asked Gavine, a light leaping into her eyes.
"Yes," said Sidney; "we're doing a course of building every Sunday, and we find out a lot about it, don't we, Chuckles? We're all builders—of a sort."
"Of a sort," repeated Monica slowly.
"When I'm builded into a man, I shall begin to build other people," asserted Chuckles.
And the important tone with which he said it made the girls laugh.