"I don't like that kind of a beast. Oncet he was a worm in a kind of a hole-box, an' then he turned into a leetle beast-crittah; an' what'll he be next?"
"Next—why, next he'll be a fly—a—a beautiful fly with four wings all blue and gold and green—"
"I seen them things flyin' round in the summeh. Hit's quare how things gits therselves changed that-a-way into somethin' else—from a worm into that beast-crittah an' then into one o' these here devil flies. You reckon hit'll eveh git changed into something diff'ent—some kind er a bird?"
"A bird? No, no. When he becomes a f—fly, he's finished and done for."
"P'r'aps ther is some folks that-a-way, too. You reckon that's what ails me?"
"You? Why,—why what ails you?"
"You reckon p'r'aps I mount git changed some way outen this here quare back I got, so't I can hol' my hade like otheh folks? Jes' go to sleep like, an' wake up straight like Frale?"
The old doctor turned and looked down a moment on the child sitting hunched at his side. His mouth worked as he meditated a reply.
"What would you do if you could c—arry your head straight like Frale? If you had been like him, you would be running a 'still' pretty soon. You never would have come to me to set you straight, and so you would n—never have seen all the pictures and the great cities. You are going to be a man before you know it, and—"
"And I'll do a heap o' things when I'm a man, too—but I wisht—I wisht— These here snails we b'en hunt'n', you reckon they're done growed to ther shells so they can't get out? What did God make 'em that-a-way fer?"