All at once, when the way seemed most perplexing, the guardian child gave a cry and pointed upward. A light was breaking over the tree-tops. It was the star!
Out of the mist stepped Kitty and her guide, upon the pathway, and there pealed a chime of Christmas bells. Not distant bells, but clear and joyous, filling the air. The sky was yellow as with the dawn; the summer had passed; the snow lay white on the ground.
CHAPTER XVI
AT THE GATE.
Kitty rubbed her eyes.
Where was she?
She was just at home. She was in the old familiar wood, the entrance into which she could see from Johnnie’s window. No, there could be no mistake; there was the pool, its silky mantle of duckweed now glistening with ice. There, yes, there was the gate shaded by the gnarled elm, its branches like a candelabrum of snow.
It is the gate of the wood. Kitty flies along the path till she has reached it. She stands and looks. The dear old home picture is there before her. She sees the old village street, the sweet-stuff shop is just round the corner. There is the square tower of the church, covered with ivy, and there is her home. Over its red-gabled roof the star is shining in a sky, yellow as a bed of cowslips. There is Johnnie’s window; the blue curtains are drawn across it. No one is stirring. There is no one in the garden; the house door is closed; the blinds are all down. Kitty looks fondly at the dear tranquil scene. It is like the loveliest dream. She feasts her eyes a moment upon it, then comes in her heart the question: “Am I in time? What secret does that blue-curtained window hide? Is Johnnie better or is he—”
Kitty tries to push open the gate. It is locked. She pulls at the latch: she cannot lift it. She tries to climb over the gate: it seems to grow higher and higher. She cannot reach the top. Then she hammers with her little closed fists at the lock, pushing against it with all the strength of her body.