The window was next to her bed. She sat up and watched the ships of fleece go drifting by. How the great golden stars twinkled! Were they worlds? and did people live in them? They made a mysterious melody; and though she had not heard of the stars singing for joy, she felt it in every pulse with a sweet, solemn thrill of rapture.
Was that heaven back of the shining stars? And oh! would she and Bess and John Travis be together there? For he would help her to call back Bess, as she came on Sunday. It was only a little while to wait now. She felt the assurance—for the poor ignorant little girl had translated St. Paul’s sublime, “By faith.”
The moon silvered the tree-tops, and presently sent one slant ray across the bed. Dil laid her hands in it with a trance of ecstasy. The delicious state of quietude seemed to make her a part of all lovely, heavenly things. It was the “land of pure delight” that John Travis sang about. A whole line came back to her,—
“And pleasures banish pain.”
Dilsey Quinn had attained to the spiritual pleasures. Pain was not, could not be again.
She was not a bit sleepy. She watched the moon dropping down and down. All the insects had stopped. A soft darkness seemed spread over everything, and by dozens the stars went out. Ah, how wonderful it all was! If people could only have chances to know!
“My child,” said Miss Mary at the breakfast table, “you are not eating anything! Don’t you like porridge, and this nice milk?”
“Yes, it’s so good,” replied Dil gratefully. “An’ the milk seems almost as if ’twas full of roses, it’s so sweet. But I can’t get hungry as I used, an’ when I eat just a little I seem all filled up.”
“Would you like bread better? And some nice creamed potatoes?”