One day we were following Mr. Mears and I was telling Gramp what I saw in Mr. Mears' mind when Mr. St. Ours drove by in his car. "Mr. Mears is making pictures about feeding meat to Mr. St. Ours's dog and the dog is crawling away and dying," I said to Gramp. Gramp was real interested. He said, "Watch close and read everything you can about that." I did. After, Gramp seemed very happy. He bought me a big chocolate bar that time. Chocolate is my best kind of candy. I read lots of things in other people's minds that made Gramp feel good too, and he bought me candy just about every day. Gramp seemed to have money all the time now instead of having to ask Gramma for any. She wanted to know where he got all the money. But he just smiled with his right cheek like he does and wouldn't tell her. Most of the people in town didn't seem to like Gramp any more. They made mad pictures about him whenever we met them. Sometimes when we were in the store Mrs. Van would come in and she would talk to me. She was awful nice. But she always had sad pictures in her mind and sometimes she would cough real hard and hold a handkerchief up in front of her mouth. When she did that Mr. Van used to get sad too. In his pictures Mrs. Van would be dead and laying in a coffin and they would be burying her in a big hole in the ground. Mr. Van was nice too. He gave me crackers and cookies, or sometimes a big thin slice of cheese. One night Gramp was holding me and buying some groceries and Mr. Van was putting them in a cardboard box, and he was thinking about going to the bank in Escanaba and cashing a check. And the man gave him a big handful of money. I told Gramp, but then Mr. Van came close. I didn't say anymore, like Gramp had told me. Mr. Van was whistling now. He made pictures of giving the money to Mrs. Van. She was getting on a train and going to a place where it was sunny all the time, and her cough went away and she wasn't skinny any more. In his mind Mrs. Van was real pretty. She didn't have the long nose like she really has. When we got in our car Gramp was excited. He asked me where Mr. Van had put the money he brought back from Escanaba. He had bad pictures in his mind about taking Mr. Van's money and I didn't want to tell him. But he grabbed my arm so hard it hurt and I began to cry. Gramp never hurt me before. "What are you crying for?" he asked me, cranky. "I don't want you to take Mr. Van's money," I told him. Gramp let go of my arm and didn't say anything for a while. "Sometimes the pictures you see aren't true," he said. "You know that." He took out his blue handkerchief and made me blow my nose. "Like when you see pictures in Gramma's mind about her hurting me," he said. "She never does, you know. So the pictures aren't true. It's just what we call imagination." "But your pictures are bad! They make me scared," I said.