“What do you want to make?” he asked. The Deev thought for a moment. “I want to make a palace and a garden and a moat for _me_,” said he. “I’m tired campin’ around in the air.” “If that’s all,” said Bit-bit, “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I thought you wanted to work. Out of all the work there is in the world I should think of another one if I were you, Deevy.” “Well, then, I want to make a golden court dress for _me_, all embroidered and flowered and buttoned and gored and spliced,” said the Deev, or whatever these things are called in the clothing of Deevs; “I want to make one. I’m tired goin’ around in rompers.” (It wasn’t rompers, really, but it was what Deevs wear instead, and you wouldn’t know the name, even if I told you.) “Excuse me,” said Bit-bit, frankly, “I won’t waste time like that. Don’t you want to _work_?” “Yes,” said the Deev, “I do. Maybe I don’t know what work is.” “Maybe you don’t,” agreed Bit-bit. “But I can fix that. I’m going for a walk now, and there’s just room for you. Come along.” So they started off, and it was good walking, for by now the sun had dried up all the frosting; and the Deev trotted at Bit-bit’s heels, and they made a very funny pair. So funny that Almost Everything watched them go by, and couldn’t leave off watching them go by, and so followed them all the way. Which was what Bit-bit had _thought_ would happen. And when he got to a good place, Bit-bit stood still and told the Deev to turn round. And there they were, staring face to face with Almost Everything: Deserts and towns and men and women and children and laws and governments and railroads and factories and forests and food and drink. “There’s your work,” said Bit-bit, carelessly. “Where?” asked the Deev, just like other folks. “_Where?_” repeated Bit-bit, nearly peevish. “Look at this desert that’s come along behind us. Why don’t you swing a river over your head--you _could_ do that, couldn’t you, Deevy?--and make things grow on that desert, and let people live on it, and turn ’em into folks? Why don’t you?” “It ain’t amusin’ enough,” said the Deev. (Deevs are often ungrammatical when they don’t take pains; and this Deev wasn’t taking _any_ pains.) “Well,” said Bit-bit, “then look at this town that has come along behind us, full of dirt and disease and laziness and worse. Why don’t you harness up a mountain--you _could_ do that, couldn’t you, Deevy?--and plough up the earth and trample it down and let people live as they were meant to live, and turn them into folks? Why don’t you?” “It couldn’t be done that way,” said the Deev, very much excited and disgustingly certain. “Well,” said Bit-bit, “then look at the men and women and children that have come along behind us. What about them--what about _them_? Why don’t you make your arms steel and act as if you had wings, and beat the world into a better place for them to live, instead of making a cake of it. You could do it, Deevy--_anybody_ could do that.”