The boy shook his head again. "I have to tend door," he said. "Besides, we don't really tear the things down ourselves, you know; our companions do it for us."
"Who are your companions?" asked Marjorie; "and is it for them that you tend door?"
"Yes," said the boy, "I tend door for them, and they keep my house beautiful, and destroy what isn't good."
"But who are they?" asked Marjorie, again.
"Why, they are thoughts," said the boy." My mansion is in Mind, you know, and this is the door of thought. I am my own porter and I let in whom I choose."
"Oh," said Marjorie, "I understand now," and she began to take notice of those who went in and out of the door, and found that the boy was watching them closely all the time, to see who passed; and those who went in or out, he greeted with a cheery word.
"Why, they seem just like people—very nice people!" said Marjorie at last.
"Yes," said the boy, "they are nice, and I am ever so happy with them."
"Don't unpleasant ones ever come?" asked Marjorie.
