She carried in her hand a steaming bowl of something which was like milk, but this I did not notice till she brought it forward and drew attention to it.
To behold her was in itself enough for me.
She wore a simple robe of pale soft green with no ornament, but she needed none. A figure more brilliantly light and beautiful I never saw, nor a face more perfect in expression and in shape. Yet I do not think it was her beauty that ever impressed my mind, it was the tender grace and motherly sweetness which went with her. One could not be ill nor spiritless where such a being moved, her health and lightness were infectious.
“Sunbeam will be happy now,” she said as she came forward. “Chatterboxes always like companions.”
And she sat down beside us and gave the basin into my hand.
“Indeed, yes,” I went on. “In this short time I have become acquainted with my past history from a certain fall up to the present, and that was very interesting naturally.”
“You are looking wonderfully well after your long sleep,” she said.
“Perhaps we all need rest occasionally. I feel different. As if I had thrown off a kind of hanging fever and were strong again.”
“When you have taken that,” she observed, indicating the bowl, “you will feel stronger still. You will sleep again in a little while, and after that you will be able to get up.”
Sunbeam clapped her hands.