"Say good-night to the thresher," he told him. "You are going to bed, and it is going to bed too."
"Is it very tired?" asked Jimmy.
"Yes, nicely tired, like you when you have been running about all day."
"Not nasty tired like I am after lessons?"
"No, not nasty tired."
"Are you tired, Grandad?"
"Yes," said Ishmael.
"Nice tired or nasty tired?"
"Nice tired," said Ishmael; "old men and little boys both go nice tired."
"Like the thresher?" persisted Jimmy, and, receiving an answer that satisfied him, allowed his grandfather to carry him in to bed, though he could have gone in so much more quickly himself, for grandpapa could not run with him on his shoulder as his father could. But Jimmy was in no hurry, because every minute gained was a minute out of bed and in this wonderful world where threshers hummed and golden clouds wove themselves ceaselessly in the air.