He scarcely knew when the inner door opened and the cook entered the
room.

She was a large, plain person. Her face was redder than Everychild's
mother's face, but not so pretty. Her eyes often seemed tired, but
never too tired to beam a little.

"Are you all alone, Everychild?" she asked. She did not wait for a
reply, but asked another question: "Is something wrong with your kite?"
And again without waiting for a reply she added: "Maybe I could fix it
for you!"

And she got down on the rug on her knees and took the kite from his
hands.

Everychild, standing beside her, looked into her rather sad, kind eyes,
which were closer to him than he remembered their ever having been
before. There were little moist lines about them, and they were faded.
Her hands were not at all like his mother's hands. Not nearly so nice:
and yet how clever they were! She was really untangling the tail of
the kite, moving it here and there with large gestures.

And then Everychild forgot all about the kite. Certain amazing things
had begun to happen near by.

It had been getting dark in the room; and now it suddenly became quite
bright, though no one had turned the lights on. And there was a sound
of music--a short bit of a march, which ended all of a sudden. And
then Everychild realized that by some strange process two persons had