Perhaps when her eyes closed the sultriness of the night had
changed to the momentary freshness of the turning dawn, and the
next hour or so was really cooler. She knew no more heat but
slept softly, deeply, long--or it seemed to her afterwards that
she had slept long--as if she had drifted far away in dreamless
peace.

She remembered no dream, saw nothing, felt nothing until, as it
seemed to her, in the early morning, she opened her eyes. All was
quite still and clear--the air of the room was pure and sweet.
There was no sound anywhere and, curiously enough, she was not
surprised by this, nor did she expect to hear anything disturbing.

She did not look round the room. Her eyes remained resting upon
what she first saw--and she was not surprised by this either. A
little girl about her own age was standing smiling at her. She
had large eyes, a deep dimple near her mouth, and coppery red
hair which fell about her cheeks and shoulders. Judith knew her
and smiled back at her.

She lifted her hand--and it was a pure white little hand with
long tapering fingers.

"Come and play with me," she said--though Judith heard no voice
while she knew what she was saying. "Come and play with me."

Then she was gone, and in a few seconds Judith was awake, the air
of the room had changed, the noise and clatter of the streets
came in at the window, and the Elevated train went thundering by.
Judith did not ask herself how the child had gone or how she had