"Comical Cal,
Scairt of a gal!"
"There was a little gal jest about your age used to say that whenever I passed her house."
"Was you?" inquired the child.
"Was I what? scairt? yes, I was! scairt out of my boots, if I'd had any."
"Why was you?"
"Why was Silas's gray hoss gray? This ain't playin' s'pose, little un. S'pose you start in!"
"Why," said the child; "well—you see—you just s'pose, you know. You can s'pose about anything; I do it at home, and sometimes—only don't tell—I s'pose in meetin', if I had a bunnet like—but you never saw her, I s'pose. But most of all I like to s'pose about this place, because there isn't anything, so you can have anything you like. See?"
"I see!" said Calvin.
"There used to be a house here!" the child went on. "There truly did."
"You don't say!" said Calvin.