"He is a musician," Caeltia replied. "That is his business when we are in our own place, and, as you can see, it is his pleasure also."
Patsy was in high spirits. Now that he had successfully undone that which he had done a real weight had lifted from him. But the thing was still so near that he could not get easily from it. His head was full of the adventures of the last few days, and although he could not speak of them he could touch them, sound them, lift the lid of his mystery and snap it to again, chuckling meanwhile to himself that those who were concerned did not know what he was talking about, and yet he was talking to himself, or to one cognisant, in hardy, adequate symbol. A puerile game for a person whose youth had been left behind for twenty years, but one which is often played nevertheless and by the most solemn minds.
It was with an impish carelessness that he addressed Caeltia:
"It won't be long before we are there," said he.
"That is so," was the reply.
"You'll be feeling fine, I'm thinking, when you get your own clothes on again."
"I have not missed them very much."
"I hope your wings and your grand gear will be all right."
"Why should you doubt it?" returned the seraph.
"What," said Patsy, "if they were robbed on you! You'd be rightly in the cart, mister, if that happened."