But Richie shook his head stubbornly, lips pressed tight. "I
promised!"
"Richie, a promise like that isn't a good one," pleaded Jonathan.
"Allavarg wouldn't want you to disobey your father and mother, would
he?"
The child sat and stared at him.
This was a very disturbing thought and Jonathan could see Richie did
not know how to deal with it.
He pressed his momentary advantage. "Allavarg takes care of little
boys and girls, doesn't he? He plays with them and he looks after
them, I'll bet."
Richie nodded uncertainly.
"And," continued Jonathan, smiling what he hoped was a winning,
comradely smile at his son, "I'll bet that Allavarg came from some
place far, far away, didn't he?"
"Yes," said Richie softly.
"And it's his job to be here and look after the--the nursery?"
Jonathan bit his lip. Nursery? Earth? Carooms--Martians? His head
began to ache. "Son, you've got to help me understand. Do you--do you
murv me?"
* * * * *