"It's all in the order of things. Everything has its place in the world and its work to do. They don't want to get out. They like to carry their bones on the outside of their bodies. They're made so. Yes, yes, all in the order of things. They like it." "You reckon you can tell me hu' come God 'lowed me to have this-er lump on my back? Hit hain't in no ordeh o' things fer humans to be like I be." The sceptical old man looked down on the child quizzically, yet sadly. His flexible mouth twitched to reply, but he was silent. Hoyle looked back into the old doctor's eyes with grave, direct gaze, and turned away. "You reckon why he done hit?" "See here. Suppose--just suppose you were given your choice this minute to change places with Frale--Lord knows where he is now, or what he's doing--or be as you are and live your own life; which would you be? Think it over; think it out." "Ef I had 'a' been straight, brother David never would 'a' took me up to you?" "No--no--no. You would have been a--" "You mean if a magic man should come by here an' just touch me so, an' change me into Frale, would I 'low him to do hit?" "That's what I mean." "I don't guess Frale, he'd like to be done that-a-way." The loving little chap nestled closer to the doctor's side. "I like you a heap, Doctah Hoyle. Frale, he fit brothah David--an' nigh about killed him. I reckon I rutheh be like I be, an' bide nigh Cass an' th' baby--an' have the 'quar'um--an' see maw--an' go with you. You reckon I can go back with you?" "Go back? Of course--go back." "Be I heap o' trouble to you? You reckon God 'lowed me to have this er hump, so't I could get to go an' bide whar you were at, like I done?" A suspicious moisture gathered in the doctor's eyes, and he sprang up and went to examine earnestly a thorny shrub some paces away, while the child continued to pipe his questions, for the most part unanswerable. "You reckon God just gin my neck er twist so't brothah David would take me to Canada to you, an' so't maw'd 'low me to go? You reckon if I'm right good, He'll 'low me to make a picture o' th' ocean some day, like the one we seed in that big house? You reckon if I tried right hard I could paint a picture o' th' mountain, yandah--an' th' sea--an'--all the--all the--ships?" The doctor laughed heartily and merrily. "Come, come. We must go home now to Cassandra and the baby. Paint? Of--of course you could paint! You could paint p--pictures enough to fill a house." "We don't want no magic man, do we, Doctah Hoyle? I cried a heap after I seed myself in the big lookin'-glass down in Farington whar brothah David took me. I cried when hit war dark an' maw war sleepin'. Next time I reckon I bettah tell God much obleeged fer twistin' my hade 'roun' 'stead er cryin' an' takin' on like I been doin'. You reckon so, Doctah Hoyle?"