“What can you do with those two things, Mr. David, dear?”
“Almost anything, lad.” I thought of Santa Teresa’s book-mark: “Patient endurance attaineth to all things,” and I clenched my hands involuntarily, and sat up.
“I see—it’s going to be a story!”
I shook my head. “It’s warm for stories. Try to rest, Joey.”
He lay back obediently, and a hand stole out and stroked my hand.
“But, what, Mr. David—what can you do with courage and patience?”
The question came again, and found me still unprepared.
“What would you say, Joey?”
“Well,” the clear, light tones ran on, “if you have patience you can make things—like cedar chests and tables and bird houses; you can fix things too—same as you do, Mr. David. Fixing is harder than making, I guess. ’Most anybody can make things—perhaps—I don’t know for sure; but everybody can’t fix things, like you can.”
I gripped the small hand hard.