"Well," he continued, "what's the good of them until you _think_
something about them--think them into something--some game or meaning
or other? They're nothing but a lot of useless stuff just lying
untidily upon the floor. See what I mean?"
They nodded, but again without enthusiasm.
"With our End of the World place," he went on, seeing that they
listened attentively, "it's the same again. It was nothing but a
rubbish-heap until we thought it into something wonderful--which, of
course, it is," he hastened to add. "But by thinking about it, we
discovered--we _created_ it!"
They nodded again. Somebody grunted. Maria watched the caterpillar
crawling up his sleeve.
"The things--the place and the toys," he resumed hopefully, "were
there all the time, but they meant nothing--they weren't alive--until
we thought about them." He blew a cloud of smoke. "So, you see," he
continued with an effort, "if we could only _think out_ what
everything meant, we could--er--find out what--what everything meant--
and where it came from. Everything would be all right, don't you see?"
Judy's expression was distraught and puzzled.
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