Susan's eyes seemed to expand as she turned them up to Mr. Hicks, the source of supernal illumination. If the pancake had seemed desirable, this wonderful idea was ten times as much of a present. Her bliss grew visibly deeper as she looked first at the pancake and then at the resourceful Mr. Hicks. She was so completely won that she consented to sit on his knee. There she resumed her tamale in the intervals of conversation.
"Mr. Hicks. How did the bees come to go down your chimbly?"
"'Cause," replied Mr. Hicks.
"Oh, Mister Hicks—tell me why the bees went down your chimbly. I want to know why."
"I guess they thought it was an old hollow tree."
"Do you think maybe they would think our chimbly was an old hollow tree? Oh, I wish they would come down our chimbly."
"Oh, they would n't come down your chimney. That would n't do at all."
"Why would n't they, Mr. Hicks?"
"'Cause," answered Jonas, still pretending to be taciturn and mysterious.
"Oh, Mister Hicks. Please don't talk that way. Tell me why."