"If you think things are true, then they are true, aren't they?" Hortense demanded.
"Perhaps," said Grandfather, wrinkling his forehead. "Philosophers disagree on that point. Now run off to bed."
Hortense kissed her Grandfather and Grandmother good night and went to her room.
"I hope you got a good nap to-day," she said to Highboy when she had closed the door, "because we are going to play hide and seek to-night, and Andy, who lives next door, is coming over."
"I slept all day," said Highboy, "and I'm fit as a fiddle."
"Why do you say fit as a fiddle?" asked Hortense. "Do fiddles have fits? Cats have, of course!"
"And dresses," added Highboy, "and things fit into boxes. Your grandmother says when she puts things into me, 'This will fit nicely,' so I suppose a fiddle fits or has fits the same way."
"It doesn't seem clear to me," said Hortense.
"How many things are clear?" Highboy demanded.
"Lots of things aren't," Hortense admitted. "Of course, a clear day is easy."