Arch looked at him and put a hand on him and said, "I don't want to come between any boy and his parents."
"Well," said my grandfather, "you sold them a share of sky for each of us. Do you really want us to have that, or do you just want to talk about it?"
"Of course I want you to. But I can't take you Outside, boy."
My grandfather was disgusted. "There isn't any sky," he said sadly. "It's all talk. The certificates were just for begging."
"No," said Arch. "It's not all talk and I'm not a beggar. I'm a guide. But it's hard to see the sky right now because it's winter, and there are clouds all over."
"Let's see the clouds, then," my grandfather said stubbornly. "I've never seen a cloud."
The old man sat down on the stairs to consider the matter.
"I can't do this thing to your parents," he said at last.
"But you can do it to me and my sister," my grandfather charged wildly. "You can come to the house year after year after year, and tell us about the sky and the wind and the moon and the dew and the grass and the sun. You can even take money for our share of them. But when it comes time to produce—when we're old enough to go where these things are supposed to be—you think of excuses.
"I don't believe there are any such things," he shouted. "I think you're a liar. I think you ought to be arrested for gypping my dad on the stock deal, and I'm going to turn you in."