"Oh, Uncle Charlie!" sobbed the child, trying to throw his feeble arms round his neck, "is it really you? Where do you come from? You'll tell me all about it; you'll help me to remember!"
"Tell you what, my dear, dear little fellow?"
"I don't know what! I can't tell what! It's something I want to remember, and I don't know what it is!"
"What was it like?" asked Uncle Charlie.
"It was like a church," answered Humphrey, excitedly, "and it was like a summer's morning, and you and me and Father sitting still, while somebody was telling us what the sound in my head means. I can't remember what he said, but if I only could I shouldn't mind the rushing and singing a bit; for when I heard it that time, everything about it was happy, and bright, and beautiful. But you were there, Uncle Charlie, and you must know, for you wrote something down about it."
"I told you so, Everard," said the young man to his brother-in-law; "I knew he was trying to remember the sermon on the Revelations we heard the Sunday I was down here."
"But you're not telling me, Uncle Charlie," sobbed Humphrey.
"I will, my boy, I will; but you must let me go and fetch my Bible, for I don't remember the words exactly."
"Must you go?" faintly uttered Humphrey. "Oh, don't go, Uncle Charlie; you'll disappear like you did just now, and perhaps never come back again."
Uncle Charlie reassured him, and gently disengaged himself from his grasp.