I do not answer, and Snaggletooth adds,
'The angels, perhaps. Good--good. But they come in another way.'
'No one can get out without hurting himself,' I suggest.
'That is a better thought; but if they lived good lives----'
'Yes, sir.'
'Walls covered with broken glass won't hurt them.'
Snaggletooth looks upwards contemplatively. I look up also, and a sudden dizziness comes upon me and overpowers me. Snaggletooth catches me as I am falling.
'You are not well, my little fellow.'
'No, sir; I feel very weak, but the doctor says I shall get over it.'
Snaggletooth lifts me in his arms, and I fall asleep on his shoulder as he carries me tenderly home.