“No,” said Creepy with great wondering eyes.
“Very likely, but you’ll come across them some day. In the meantime I suppose you read what you like best, or do you take up whatever comes in your way?”
“Nothing does come in my way,” said Creepy, “since Ben died. He only had two books, but they gave them away to somebody, afterwards, and that’s all there were in the house.”
“That was the whole library?” asked the doctor, with a smile Creepy did not exactly understand.
“Yes, that was all, and there were pieces gone off from both of them, but there was enough left for Ben to teach me.”
“So Ben taught you, did he?” said the doctor, having learned exactly what he wished. “Ben was a rare fellow, to make schoolmaster and gardener at once. Did he ever teach you, I wonder, how much flint there is in a stalk of grass like this?” And he pulled one up, and began to make mischief with the seeds again.
“Queer, isn’t it?” he went on, as Creepy only said “No,” with a still more wondering look. “And there is still more in a stalk of wheat; that is what makes it strong and straight, partly, and ought to make you strong and straight too, when you eat it. By the way,” turning his eyes suddenly upon the queer little jacket Mrs. Ganderby’s “wits and patience” had “worried out,” “would you mind taking that jacket off one moment, and letting me just pass my fingers up and down your back?”
Creepy’s hands trembled a little, but he got it off. He never liked to have anything touch his back, it always hurt him so.
“There,” said the doctor; “now tell me, please, do you feel any pain when I put my finger here?”