Challis understood the question in its metaphysical acceptation. He had the sense of a powerful but undirected intelligence working from the simple premises of experience; of a cloistered mind that had functioned profoundly; a mind unbound by the tradition of all the speculations and discoveries of man, the essential conclusions of which were contained in that library at Challis Court.
“No!” said Challis, after a perceptible interval, “that you will not learn from any books in my possession, but you will find grounds for speculation.”
“Grounds for speculation?” questioned the Wonder. He repeated the words quite clearly.
“Material—matter from which you can—er—formulate theories of your own,” explained Challis.
The Wonder shook his head. It was evident that Challis’s sentence conveyed little or no meaning to him.
He got down from his chair and took up an old cricket cap of his father’s, a cap which his mother had let out by the addition of another gore of cloth that did not match the original material. He pulled this cap carefully over his bald head, and then made for the door.
At the threshold the strange child paused, and without looking at any one present said: “I’ll coom to your library,” and went out.
Challis joined Lewes at the window, and they watched the boy make his deliberate way along the garden path and up the lane towards the fields beyond.
“You let him go out by himself?” asked Challis.
“He likes to be in the air, sir,” replied Ellen Mary.