"Circus. An' angels. An' ice-cream. An' a barrel o' marbles. An' bein' warm an' clean stockin's an' rocked...."
"My God!" said the man.
The child looked up expectantly.
"Did he say anything back?" he inquired eagerly.
"Not a word," said the man in his throat.
"Lemme try," said the child. "God—oh, God—God dear!" he called into the night.
From the top of the hill on the edge of the Pump pasture which in that minute they had reached, they suddenly saw, cheery and yellow and alive, the lamps of Friendship Village, shining in the valley; and away at one side, less in serene contemplation than in deliberate withdrawal, shone the lights of a house set alone on its hill.
"Oh, daddy, daddy—look at the lights!" the child cried. "God didn't say nothin' with words. Maybe he talks with lights instead of 'em."
The man quickened his steps until, to keep pace with him, the little boy broke into uneven running.