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 "I wish I wasn't so material in my thinking," I said. "I believe things that I see; no matter how hard I try to know differently."

"Do you really believe everything you see?" asked Uncle Rob. We had some new clerks in for the holidays, and so he was not so very busy just then.

"Why, sure I do," I said.

"Some one has said, 'Matter is experience.' When you look down a long stretch of railroad track, you see the rails come together at a point in the distance, don't you?"

"Yes."

"But do they?"

"No."

"But you might think that they did, excepting for experience, might you not?"

I had to admit that I probably would. "But," I said, "if I see anything the matter with me, that's different. I have to believe that scratch on my hand,—I know where I got it, too."

"That's the main trouble," said Uncle Rob; "you think you know where you got it;—and lots of times you hit your hand and think you've hurt it, until you look and see that there isn't