"Oh," said Charley. "I—gosh, it just embarrassed them a little bit, that's all. I mean ... that's all, isn't it?"
"No," said the young man sternly, "there is more. Think a moment, humans, upon that common structure in the yard ... think deeply, and you will realize that there is much more to it than meets the eye."
"Guess so," mumbled Charley.
"It is a haven ... a place of wondrous solitude ... a refuge for those who would contemplate without interruption, as many a weary traveler yearns for."
"Guess so."
"In what other situation can you be so completely alone ... in a perfect isolation not only permitted but sanctioned by your society? Why, humans, I could tell you of the most extraordinary moments of piety, of philosophical reflection, of artistic conception which we have recorded as occurring under such circumstances...."
"I never thought of it that way, I guess," Charley said slowly. "I always did sort of think it leveled you off, though."
The young man eyed them soberly.
"In late afternoon," he said, "in the confines of the rustic outhouse, settled happily, hearing the quaint and natural sounds of the insects in the field, the flutterings of birds from branch to branch ... do you know that in this day it is the only waking place where one may flee for the inner life?"
The old men looked down guiltily.