Don't go from this little hill."
Fay pranced off wildly, joyous over freedom that had not been
granted her for weeks.
"Jane, why are children more sincere than grown-up persons?"
asked Lassiter.
"Are they?"
"I reckon so. Little Fay there--she sees things as they appear on
the face. An Indian does that. So does a dog. An' an Indian an' a
dog are most of the time right in what they see. Mebbe a child is
always right."
"Well, what does Fay see?" asked Jane.
"I reckon you know. I wonder what goes on in Fay's mind when she
sees part of the truth with the wise eyes of a child, an' wantin'
to know more, meets with strange falseness from you? Wait! You
are false in a way, though you're the best woman I ever knew.
What I want to say is this. Fay has taken you're pretendin'
to--to care for me for the thing it looks on the face. An' her
little formin' mind asks questions. An' the answers she gets are
different from the looks of things. So she'll grow up gradually
takin' on that falseness, an' be like the rest of the women, an'
men, too. An' the truth of this falseness to life is proved by
your appearin' to love me when you don't. Things aren't what they
seem."
"Lassiter, you're right. A child should be told the absolute
truth. But--is that possible? I haven't been able to do it, and
all my life I've loved the truth, and I've prided myself upon
being truthful.
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