He pulled David down and whispered the question in his ear.
"No, no. She only means that you're a dear, queer little chap."
"What be I quare fer?"
"What are all these drawings? Tell us what they mean."
"This'n, hit's the ocean, an' that thar, hit's a steamship sailin' on th' ocean, like you done tol' me about. An' this'n, hit's our house an' here's whar ol' Pete bides at; an' this'n's ol' Pete kickin' out like he hated somethin' like he does when we give Frale's colt his corn first." The other small boys from their beds laughed out merrily and strained their necks to see. "These're theirn. I made this'n fer him an' this'n fer him."
He tossed the pictures feebly toward them, and they fluttered to the floor. David gathered them up and gave them to their respective owners. The old doctor stood beside the cot and looked down on the little artist. His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled.
"Which one is y—yours?" he asked.
"I keep this'n with the sea—an'—here, I made this'n fer you." He paused, and selected carefully among the pile of papers under his hand. "You reckon you kin tell what 'tis?"
The doctor took the paper and regarded it gravely a moment, then lifted his eyebrows and made grimaces of wonderment