"Honest!"

It annoyed her--when, an hour later, she began to dress for the
adventure--to find herself weaker than she had at all supposed.
Although she forbore to mention it to the Second Nurse, there was an
irresponsible funny feeling in her legs. They seemed to belong to her
but by fits and starts. But the clothes were hers: the merino skirt a
deal too short for her--she had grown almost an inch in her bed-lying--
the chip hat, more badly crushed than ever, a scandal of a hat, but
still hers. The dear, dear clothes! She held them in both hands and
nuzzled into them, inhaling her lost self in the new-old scent of
liberty.

When at length her hat was donned, the notion took her to stand by the
sick woman's bed to show herself.

Consciousness had drained away deep into the sick woman's eyes.
It wavered there darkly, submerged, half-suspended, as you may see the
weed waver in a dim seapool. Did a bubble, a gleam, float up from the
depths? At any rate, the child nodded bravely.

"Goin' to fetch 'im, don't you fret!"




CHAPTER II

HOW TRUE TILDA CAME TO DOLOROUS GARD