The scene misted over once again and when it cleared, the pitcher was merely a pitcher on a table in Mr. Wicker's room. Chris looked up at the man who regarded him gravely.
"Is that a trick too?" he asked. "Just to make me stay?" he demanded more loudly.
"No, son," the man replied, and his eyes confirmed his words. "That is how it really is. My word of honor."
And to Chris's great surprise, all at once he felt tears on his cheeks while simultaneously a great lightness invaded him, and a wild wish to laugh.
Mr. Wicker poured him a glass of water and held it out.
"Drink this," he said. "All is well. You can be at peace. And now," he went on in a brisker tone, replacing the glass Chris had drained, "let us begin our talk."
CHAPTER 8
