“Right over yan. Aw, you don't look. See? There he is. Aw! you're too slow. Didn't you see him? Now the next time I tell you—Look, look! There! He run right acrost the floor an' into the closet. Plain 's day. didn't you see him? You saw him, mother?”
Mrs. Allgire nodded her head. She was busy counting the stitches in a nubia she was knitting for old Aunt Pashy, Roebuck.
“W'y, you couldn't help but see him, didn't you take notice to his white whiskers?”
“Ye-es,” said the child, slowly, with the wide-open stare of hypnosis.
“Didn't you see the evergreen tree he carried?”
“M-hm,” said Eddie, the image taking shape in his mind's eye.
“And his brown coat all trimmed with fur, an' his funny peaked hat? An' his red nose? W'y, course you did.” The boy nodded his head. He was sure now. Yes. Faith was lost in sight. He believed.
“I expect he's in the closet now. Go look.”
“No. You.” He clung to D.
“I can't. I got this flat-iron in my lap, an' wouldn't spill the nut-shells all over the floor. You don't want me to, do you, Ma?”