"What is that noise?"
He jumped out of bed, went to the window, and said:—
"It is the carpenters making a house," and after a pause, asked, "Who made all the other houses?"
"Carpenters," said I; "don't you see they make houses out of boards?"
"Who made the boards?"
"The boards are made out of trees. People cut down the trees, and then they saw them up into great logs, and then they split up the logs and smooth them out into pieces we call boards."
"Who made the trees?" said he.
I understood very well where the tyrannizing unity of his personality was leading his understanding, but did not wish, just then, to risk giving outward form or connection to his thought of the Divine Cause, so I said:—
"The trees grow out of the ground; don't you see old trees and young trees and little baby trees growing out of the ground?"
For this information he did not give me that hearty "yes" with which he had received my communication of spiritual facts, but came back to bed again. I persisted, however, in talking playful nonsense for half an hour, until his nurse came to take him up to dress him. As soon as she appeared at the door, he started up on his knees again, crossed his arms over his breast, and in a loud, joyful voice cried out:—