Then he asked Tyltyl what money was.
"Why, it's what you pay with!" said Tyltyl, scorning to give any further explanation.
"Oh!" said the Child, seriously.
Of course, he did not understand. How could he know, a little boy like that, who lived in a paradise where his least wishes were granted before he had learned to put them into words?
"How old are you?" asked Tyltyl, continuing the conversation.
"I am going to be born soon," said the Child. "I shall be born in twelve years.... Is it nice to be born?"
"Oh, yes," cried Tyltyl, without thinking. "It's great fun!"
But he was very much at a loss when the little boy asked him "how he managed." His pride did not allow him to be ignorant of anything in another child's presence; and it was quite droll to see him with his hands in his breeches-pockets, his legs wide apart, his face upturned and his whole attitude that of a man who is in no hurry to reply. At last, he answered, with a shrug of the shoulders:
"Upon my word, I can't remember! It's so long ago!"
"They say it's lovely, the earth and the Live People!" remarked the Child.