“Yes,” said the Deev, “I could do that. But it don’t appeal to me.” (Deevs are always ungrammatical when they are being emphatic, and now the Deev was being very emphatic. He was a keen Deev, but he would only learn what he wanted to learn.) “Deevy _dear_,” cried Bit-bit, in distress because the Deev was such a disgusting creature, “then at least do get some sweet-grass and make a little garment to help clothe the world?” “What’s the use?” said the Deev. “Let it go naked. It’s always been that way.” So, since the Deev would not learn the work witchcraft, Bit-bit, very sorrowful, stood up and said a great truth and made a real answer--which is always a dangerous business. “You will, you will, you will do these things,” he cried, “because it’s that kind of a world.” And then the Deev, who had all along been getting more and more annoyed, pieced together his will and his ideas and his annoyance, and they all went buzzle-buzzle-buzzle together till they made an act. And the act was that he stepped sidewise into space, and he picked up the earth and put it between his knees, and he cracked it hard enough so that it should have fallen into uncountable bits. “It’s my nut,” said the Deev, “and now I’m going to eat it up.” But lo, from the old shell there came out a fair new kernel of a world, so lustrous and lovely that the Deev was blinded and hid his eyes. Only first he had seen how the deserts were flowing with rivers and the towns were grown fair under willing hands for men and women and children to live there. And there, with Almost Everything, sat Bit-bit in his place, weaving a little garment of sweet-grass to clothe some mite of the world. “Now this time try not to wrinkle things all up, Deev,” said Bit-bit. “I must say, you’ve been doing things disgustingly inhuman.” So after that the Deev was left camping about in the air, trying to make for himself new witchcrafts. And there he is to this day, being a disgusting creature generally, and _only_ those who are as busy as Bit-bit are safe from him. XIII WHY There was a day when Mary Elizabeth and Delia and Calista and Betty and I sat under the Eating Apple tree and had no spirit to enter upon anything. Margaret Amelia was not with us, and her absence left us relaxed and without initiative; for it was not as if she had gone to the City, or to have her dress tried on, or her hair washed, or as if she were absorbed in any real occupation. Her absence was due to none of these things. Margaret Amelia was in disgrace. She was, in fact, confined in her room with every expectation of remaining there until supper time. “What’d she do?” we had breathlessly inquired of Betty when she had appeared alone with her tidings.