‘Why should I keep it?’ grunted the old man.
Giles was about to burst out with a long explanation of what the shell could do, but Anne broke in:
‘Take it just as a favour to us, Michael,’ said she. ‘We want you to try it.’
And then she explained to him in what manner the shell worked.
He scowled as she finished.
‘I don’t quite like it,’ said he. ‘Where did you get this thing, child?’
‘Oh, don’t ask me that now, Michael, please,’ said Anne. ‘Just trust us that no harm will come to you from it. After all, you know us, don’t you?’
‘Oh, aye,’ said the old man slowly at last. ‘I’d trust some of you youngsters farther than I’d trust your elders—and that’s the truth. But I have no liking for conjuring tricks, mark you. A blind man’s life is a life of puzzling, anyhow. I’m loath, I suppose, to take over any new riddles. Give me your shell.’
He stretched out his big white hand and Anne placed the shell upon it. It closed with that curious searching feel that the blind use to take the place of seeing.
‘We will come again tomorrow or the next day,’ said Anne, ‘and learn what you have heard, Michael.’