don't she, Jem?"

Through the weeks that followed her habit of "playing up-stairs"
was accepted as a perfectly natural thing. No questions were
asked and she knew it was not necessary to enter into any
explanations.

Every day she went to the door of the Closed Room and, finding it
closed, at a touch of her hand upon the panel it swung softly
open. There she waited--sometimes for a longer sometimes for a
shorter time--and the child with the coppery hair came to her.
The world below was gone as soon as she entered the room, and
through the hours they played together joyously as happy children
play. But in their playing it was always Judith who touched the
toys--who held the doll---who set the little table for their
feast. Once as she went down-stairs she remembered that when she
had that day made a wreath of roses from the roof and had gone to
put it on her playmate's head, she had drawn back with deepened
dimple and, holding up her hand, had said, laughing: "No. Do not
touch me."

But there was no mystery in it after all. Judith knew she should
presently understand.

She was so happy that her happiness lived in her face in a sort
of delicate brilliance. Jane Foster observed the change in her
with exceeding comfort, her view being that spacious quarters,
fresh air, and sounder sleep had done great things for her.

"Them big eyes of hers ain't like no other child's eyes I've ever