He looked strangely at Percival as though behind his twinkling he indeed questioned these matters and found, as he had said, a question in all he saw. But when he saw how mystified he held Percival, he stopped his searching look and asked: "Any more questions, little master?" He had kept his finger on the open page of his book all this time; and Percival pointed and said: "Well, what are you reading, if you please?" and was told "Robinson Crusoe." "Why, I'm reading that!" cried Percival in much delight. "Then thou art reading one of the only three books a man wants," said Japhra. "There's 'Pilgrim's Progress'--" "I've read that too! In Mr. Amber's library--" "And there's the Bible." "And that as well!" cried Percival. "Why," said Japhra--not twinkling now, but grave--"why, then, thou hast read the beginning and end of wisdom. Crusoe and Pilgrim and Bible--those are the books for a man. I read them and read them and always read them new. They are the books for a questioner, and thou art that amain. And they are the books for a fighter, and that is thy part. I have unriddled thee so far, little master. I know the fighting type. Mark me when the years come. A fighter, thou." He placed a blade of grass in "Robinson Crusoe" and put the volume beneath his arm. He got up and took Percival's small hand in his horny fist. "Come thou and see my van, little master," said he. "We are friends--thou and I and Ima here." And then he twinkled again. "And why? What brought thee whom the fairies attended and that has read the books and is the fighting type? What brought thee here? Why, there's the question again!"