Here and there in the crevices of the wall blossomed a few hardy wild
flowers, which Joyce began to gather as she walked. "I'll go around this
bend in the road and see what's there," she said to herself. "By that
time Marie will surely be done with her messages."

No one was in sight in any direction, and feeling that no one could be
in hearing distance, either, in such a deserted place, she began to
sing. It was an old Mother Goose rhyme that she hummed over and over, in
a low voice at first, but louder as she walked on.

Around the bend in the road there was nothing to be seen but a lonely
field where two goats were grazing. On one side of it was a stone wall,
on two others a tall hedge, but the side next her sloped down to the
road, unfenced.

Joyce, with her hands filled with the yellow wild flowers, stood looking
around her, singing the old rhyme, the song that she had taught the baby
to sing before he could talk plainly:

"Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn,
The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn.
Little Blue Blue, oh, where are you?
Oh, where are you-u-u-u?"

The gay little voice that had been rising higher and higher, sweet as
any bird's, stopped suddenly in mid-air; for, as if in answer to her
call, there was a rustling just ahead of her, and a boy who had been
lying on his back, looking at the sky, slowly raised himself out of
the grass.