"Just as well."
"Whew!"
"Silence there!"
"Say, couldn't you and I have fun with the jackals?"
There was a pause.
"Say, can you see"—and the boy's voice sunk to a whisper—"can you see God? Or maybe the angels? What are they like? Like Judas? or old Mattathias? or like—like your sister there?"
Caleb protested against his companion's irreverence and ignorance.
"Well, at any rate, the angels see you."
"How do you know they do?"
"Because, blind as you are, you do not stumble half as much as I do. There, you stepped right over that rock that I nearly broke my heels on; and the Psalmist said of somebody, 'that the angels keep him from stubbing his toes.' Those are not the words, but something like them. But how can the angels lift you over the stones if they can't see you? Eh! But what's your name?"