"'Miss Marsh,' says Christopher.
"Mis' Emmons's living-room was like a cup of something cool, and I set there in the after-supper light having such a nice rested time drinking it in that at first I didn't hear him.
"'Miss Marsh,' he says again, and pulled at my dress. I put out my hand to him and he took it. Sometimes I donno but hands are a race of beings by themselves that talk and answer and do all the work and act like slaves and yet really rule the world.
"'Is it me telling my feet where to go or do they tell me where I go?' asked Christopher.
"'You can have it either way you want,' I told him. 'Some does one way and some does the other. Which way do you like?'
"He thought for a minute, twisting on one foot with the other up in his hand.
"'I'd like 'em to know how without our sayin' so,' he announces finally.
"'Well,' I says, 'I left out that way. That's really the best way of all.'
"He looked at me eager.