“Yes,” says Mark, “only this hain’t that kind—if it is one.”
“What kind is it?”
“It’s one where the words and letters mean just what they are, but where you have to study out what they tell you to do.”
“Clear as mud,” says I.
“’Tain’t what you’d call plain as p-p-print,” says Mark, “but I’ll study over it.” He shoved it into his inside pocket. “We better be gettin’ along, Rock. We’ll come as often to see you as we can. You come here every day, and maybe we’ll be here or leave a m-message. We’ll l-leave it under that stone. If you have any word for us, why, you leave a note under the stone. Eh?”
“All right,” says Rock. “I hope you’ll come often.”
“We will,” says Mark, “and we’ll keep you posted. You open your ears and eyes and don’t miss anythin’.”
“You bet,” says Rock. “Somehow you got me irit’rested, and sort of lookin’ ahead. I haven’t ever had anything to look ahead to before.”
“Maybe you haven’t now,” says Mark, “so don’t get your heart set on it too much.”
“Good-by,” says Rock. “Look out,” he whispered, sudden. “I see Jethro comin’.”