"It looks almost as if it had died too," said Judith.

She did not ask herself why she said "as if it had died
too"--perhaps it was because the place was so still--and
everything so far away--that the flowers had died in the strange,
little deserted garden on the roof.

She did not hear any footsteps--in fact, no ghost of a sound
stirred the silence as she stood looking at the doll's sleep--but
quite quickly she ceased to bend forward, and turned round to
look at something which she knew was near her. There she was--and
it was quite natural she should be there--the little girl with
the face like a white flower, with the quantity of burnished
coppery hair and the smile which deepened the already deep dimple
near her mouth.

"You have come to play with me," she said.

"Yes," answered Judith. "I wanted to come all night. I could not
stay down-stairs."

"No," said the child; "you can't stay down-stairs. Lift up the
doll."

They began to play as if they had spent their lives together.
Neither asked the other any questions. Judith had not played with
other children, but with this one she played in absolute and
lovely delight. The little girl knew where all the toys were, and
there were a great many beautiful ones. She told Judith where to
find them and how to arrange them for their games. She invented