the house to the river bank, and was a riot of midsummer colour and
scent. The boy's face had gained clear freshness and his eyes, fixed on
Miss Stone's face, glowed. "I like--it--here," he said.

"Yes, Alcie." Miss Stone bent toward him. "You are getting strong every
day--you will soon be able to walk--to-morrow, perhaps." She glanced at
the thin legs under their light covering.

The boy laughed a little and moved them. "I can walk now--" he declared.

But she shook her head. "No, I will tell you a story." So her voice went
on and on in the summer quiet--insects buzzed faintly, playing the song
of the day. Bees bumbled among the flowers and flew past, laden. The
boy's eyes followed them. The shadow of a crow's wing dropped on the
grass and drifted by. The summer day held itself--and Miss Stone's voice
wove a dream through it.


When the boy opened his eyes again she was sitting very quiet, her hands
in her lap, her eyes fixed on the river that flowed beyond the garden.
The boy's eyes studied her face. "Once--I--saw--you--" he said. His hand
stole out and touched the grey dress.

Miss Stone started. They had waited a long time--but not for this. "Yes,
Alcie, once you saw me--go on--"

"--saw you--in a carriage," finished Alcie, with quick smile. "You ride
straight--you--straight--now." He looked at her with devoted eyes.

"Yes." She was holding her breath, very evenly--and she did not look at