"Sure. That's what he said. Raggedy Andy here. I translated it--with a little poetic license." "What does it mean?" "I don't think it's a direct message to us. More likely it's something filed away inside his brain, or electronic storage chamber or whatever he's got. The verse is in the pattern of the ones I translated the other day. The question now is whether Andy has any original thoughts in his head or whether he's just a walking record library." "How can you tell?" "By continuing to listen to him, I suppose. A parrot might fool you into thinking it had intelligence of its own, if you didn't know anything about parrots, but after a while you'd realize it was just a mimic. Right, Andy?" The puppet-like creature hummed again and Ernest listened, gesturing the lieutenant to be quiet. Finally Ernest said: "_Down the valley, down the glen Come the Mercials, ten by ten._" "That makes as much sense as the one about the liver," the lieutenant said. "Takes it a bit further, I think. No, seriously. 'Mercials' is a set of syllables I made up, as short for 'commercials'--or the sand in their craw, the thumb in their soup--all the things they had to put up with as the most captive of all audiences." "That wasn't an original thought, then?" "Probably not. Andy may be trying me out with a few simple couplets before he throws a really hard one. I wonder if he knows he's got through to me." He laughed as the lieutenant looked at him oddly. "I don't mean _he_, personally. I know as well as you do he's some kind of robot." "I see. You mean, is somebody controlling him now, or is he just reacting to a stimulus the way he was built to do?" "Exactly." Ernest frowned at the doll-like creature. "I suppose the scientific way would be to dissect him--it. Take it apart, I mean. I've got to stop thinking of it as a him. We'd better get Doc Braddon in on this." He punched the 'com button to Doc's cabin. The sleepy voice that answered became alert as Ernest explained. Doc arrived minutes later with an instrument kit, looking eager. "So this is your new toy," he said. The creature, which had been slumped listlessly in the chair, seemed to look at Doc with distaste. It hummed something. Doc looked inquiringly at Ernest. "Have you two established communication?" "It's a robot," Ernest said defensively. "The question is, could we learn more by leaving it intact and pumping it for whatever information is stored up inside it, or by taking it apart? For instance, it just said: "_Uninterred beyond the hills Lie never weres and never wills._" Doc became excited. "It really said that?" "Well, not in so many words. It said--" "I know, I know. Your poetic license hasn't expired. I mean, that _is_ the gist of it? That somewhere back of the hills there's a charnel heap--a dump of corpses, of miscarriages--something of the sort?" "You could put that interpretation on it," Ernest said. "I got the impression of something abortive."