"There's more to it than that!" Pippin was speaking absently now; there was a wistful look in his eyes. "There's all that, the smell of the ground, and—and buttercups and—things; but there's more to it. There! You seem so friendly, I'll say it right out. I want to help!"
"That's right!" murmured the brown man. "Help! that's the stuff!"
"I want to help them that needs help. I want there shouldn't be so many kids in cellars, nor so many boys go wrong. Green grass! Tell you what!" Pippin's eyes were shining now, and his hands clenched. "I've been sayin' along, this month past, I'd forget all that time when I was a kid; I'd forget everything up to where I found the Lord. I kind o' think there was where I was wrong, mister—?"
"Call it Parks!" said the brown man. "Calvin Parks is what I was christened, and I'd like to know your name, son."
"Pippin!"
"Meanin'—?"
"Just Pippin!"
"Christian name or surname?"
"All the name there is!"
"But Pippin ain't no given name; it's an apple!"