when I look out of the window here, I see him passing round
this house like a shadow; and see his pointed hood, dark against the
sunset or the rising of the moon.

SMITH. What does he talk about?

PATRICIA. He tells me the truth. Very many true things. He is a wizard.

MORRIS. How do you know he's a wizard? I suppose he plays some tricks on
you.

PATRICIA. I should know he was a wizard if he played no tricks. But once
he stooped and picked up a stone and cast it into the air, and it flew
up into God's heaven like a bird.

MORRIS. Was that what first made you think he was a wizard?

PATRICIA. Oh, no. When I first saw him he was tracing circles and
pentacles in the grass and talking the language of the elves.

MORRIS. [_Sceptically._] Do you know the language of the elves?

PATRICIA. Not until I heard it.

MORRIS. [_Lowering his voice as if for his sister, but losing patience
so completely that he talks much louder than he imagines._] See here,
Patricia, I reckon this kind of thing is going to be the limit. I'm just
not going to have you let in by some blamed tramp or fortune-teller
because you choose to read minor poetry about the fairies. If this gipsy
or whatever he is troubles you again....

DOCTOR. [_Putting his hand on_ MORRIS'S _shoulder._] Come, you must
allow a little more for poetry. We can't all feed on nothing but petrol.

DUKE. Quite right, quite right. And being Irish, don't you know, Celtic,
as old Buffle used to say, charming songs, you know, about the Irish
girl who has a plaid shawl--and a Banshee. [_Sighs profoundly._] Poor
old Gladstone!

[_Silence as usual._

SMITH. [_Speaking to_ DOCTOR.] I thought you yourself considered the
family superstition bad for the health?

DOCTOR. I consider a family superstition is better for the health than a
family quarrel. [_He walks casually across to_ PATRICIA.] Well, it must
be nice to be young and still see all those stars and sunsets. We old
buffers won't be too strict with you if your view of things sometimes
gets a bit--mixed up, shall we say? If the stars get loose about the
grass by mistake; or if, once or twice, the sunset gets into the east.
We should only say, "Dream as much as you like. Dream for all mankind.
Dream for us who can dream no longer. But do not quite forget the
difference."

PATRICIA. What difference?

DOCTOR. The difference between the things that are beautiful and the
things that are there. That red lamp over my door