The old man was evidently embarrassed by the questions. He pushed back his chair from the table and hooked his pipe from his pocket before attempting an answer; and even then his answer was a counter-question.
“I wanter know if ye figger as how I be crazy?” he asked.
“Crazy?” said the girl, in her turn embarrassed.
“Yes, crazy,” he replied. “Not ravin’, but queer.”
He tapped his forehead with a long finger, in an explanatory manner, looking at her keenly but kindly.
“Queer about that thar devil,” he continued. “Kinder cracked about the devil. That’s how ye figgered it out, I reckon.”
“Yes,” replied Catherine. “You acted very queerly about that, Grandad, raving around with your rifle.”
Gaspard nodded his head and sighed. Catherine left her seat and went over and stood beside him, with a hand on his shoulder. She shook him gently until he looked up at her.
“Do you remember that Tom once tried to tell you that man can fly, and what you said and how you looked?” she asked.
“I remember,” he said. “I was queer.”