There was an old hermit living once in the mountains of Virginia. He was a wise old man, gifted with that rare insight which some men, though uneducated in the schools, acquire through close contact with nature and the God of the Garden. The young boys of the village laughed at the old patriarch. "I know how we can fool him," one said. "I'll take a live bird and hold it in my hand and ask him what it is. When he answers, I'll ask, 'Is it alive or dead?' If he says it's dead I'll let it fly away; if he says it's alive I'll crush it." So they went and found him at the door of his hut. Old man, I have a question for you. What is it I hold in my hand?" "Well, my son, it looks like a bird you have caught." "Right. Now, tell me, is it alive or dead?" The old man fixed his eyes on him until the boy could bear it no longer. "It is as you will, my son." Ride the wild Horses, p.76, Revell; Wallace Hamilton