It seemed only a few minutes before she wakened again. The little
girl was standing by her.

"Come," she said.

They went out together onto the roof among the flowers, but a
strange--a beautiful thing had happened. The garden did not end
at the parapet and the streets and houses were not below. The
little garden ended in a broad green pathway--green with thick,
soft grass and moss covered with trembling white and blue
bell-like flowers. Trees--fresh leaved as if spring had just
awakened them--shaded it and made it look smiling fair. Great
white blossoms tossed on their branches and Judith felt that the
scent in the air came from them. She forgot the city was below,
because it was millions and millions of miles away, and this was
where it was right to be. There was no mistake. This was real.
All the rest was unreal--and millions and millions of miles away.

They held each other's slim-pointed hands and stepped out upon
the broad, fresh green pathway. There was no boundary or end to
its beauty, and it was only another real thing that coming
towards them from under the white, flowering trees was Aunt
Hester.


In the basement Jane Foster was absorbed in her labours, which
were things whose accustomedness provided her with pleasure. She
was fond of her scrubbing, she enjoyed the washing of her dishes,
she definitely entertained herself with the splash and soapy foam
of her washtubs and the hearty smack and swing of her ironing. In