Miss Holbrook smiled, but only with her lips, Her eyes had grown somber.
"But there isn't anything 'just beautiful' going to happen to me, David," she demurred.
"There could, couldn't there?"
Miss Holbrook bit, her lip; then she gave an odd little laugh that seemed, in some way, to go with the swift red that had come to her cheeks.
"I used to think there could—once," she admitted; "but I've given that up long ago. It—it didn't happen."
"But couldn't you just THINK it was going to?" persisted the boy. "You see I found out yesterday that it's the THINKING that does it. All day long I was thinking—only thinking. I wasn't DOING it, at all. I was really raking behind the cart; but the hours all were sunny."
Miss Holbrook laughed now outright.
"What a persistent little mental-science preacher you are!" she exclaimed. "And there's truth—more truth than you know—in it all, too. But I can't do it, David,—not that—not that. 'T would take more than THINKING—to bring that," she added, under her breath, as if to herself.
"But thinking does bring things," maintained David earnestly. "There's Joe—Joe Glaspell. His mother works out all day; and he's blind."
"Blind? Oh-h!" shuddered Miss Holbrook.