“Where is that?”
“The Think-book.”
“What a funny name! I never heard it! Will it be in the library?”
“No; it is in no library. It is the book God is always writing at one end, and blotting out at the other. It is made of thoughts, not words. It is the Think-book.”
“Now I understand! You got the story out of your own head!”
“Yes, perhaps. But how did it get in to my head?”
“I can’t tell that. Nobody can tell that!”
“Nobody can that never goes up above his own head—that never shuts the Think-book, and stands upon it. When one does, then the Think-book swells to a great mountain and lifts him up above all the world: then he sees where the stories come from, and how they get into his head.—Are you to have a ride to-day?”
“I ride or not just as I like.”
“Well, we will now do just as we both like, I hope, and it will be two likes instead of one—that is, if we are true friends.”