It took a while, but Frank made it through the entire volume of entertaining, inspiring, and delightful short stories. He read stories out loud to Buddy Lamp. He read stories to Eugenia Lincoln. He read to Stella and to Horace Broom.

Sometimes, when no one else was around, Frank read to Mercy Watson.

She did a relatively good job of listening.

Frank would look up from his book and see Mercy staring at him and think: There is a key inside of her. She contains a mystery. And then he would think: I guess we all contain mysteries.

Frank kept a notebook for the rest of his life.

It was not a notebook of worries.

It was a notebook of marvels.

He called the notebook “The Third Key,” and he wrote in it under the pen name “H. D. D. Frank.”

In the notebook’s pages, H. D. D. Frank considered the mysteries.

He celebrated the marvels.

He made some light.

Humdee Dum Dee.