The children did not wake, although Jimmy mumbled something about horns, and his grandmother thought it was very cute.
"The lad's dreaming," she said.
"I wish he were," said Joe.
Grandmother looked at him blankly. "But he is. He's talking about somebody with horns. He's having a nightmare—oh, he isn't sick, is he?" Immediately she hovered over Jimmy like the epitome of anxiety itself.
"Of course not," Joe assured her. "He's sound as a bell. I merely meant I hoped he wasn't having a nightmare."
But as he put Jimmy down on the bed to which Grandmother led him, he was frowning slightly. It should not be like a small boy to dream of the Devil, especially if he didn't know he was the Devil. It didn't seem that the afternoon's experience should have created so deep an impression upon him that it would recur in his dreams. Did it mean that somehow Jimmy was sensing the Devil, and his possible nearness? Was the Devil really on their trail, homing in on them with some occult sense peculiarly his own?
Out in the living room, Pearl was engaging in animated conversation with her mother. Already they were inspecting pictures of the other seventy-seven grandchildren, and gossiping like mad. Joe interrupted.
"Mother," he said, "I've always admired your common sense, and I just know you want us all to go to bed immediately, and save all the visiting for tomorrow. Please don't let us keep you from your beauty rest."
"You're always so tactful," she said in return. "I've always said you were a wonderful son-in-law. A wonderful husband and father. A fine...."