the broken footstool, the old table, the walls—which last he touched with his hand again and again, seeming much pleased when he found that a number of old nails had been driven in various places.
“You can hang things on them,” he said.
Ram Dass smiled mysteriously.
“Yesterday, when she was out,” he said, “I entered, bringing with me small, sharp nails which can be pressed into the wall without blows from a hammer. I placed many in the plaster where I may need them. They are ready.”
The Indian
chief difficulty was that Sara said so little when one asked her questions. At seven mysteries must be made very clear if one is to understand them.
“Are you very poor now, Sara?” she had asked confidentially the first morning her friend took charge of the small French class. “Are you as poor as a