He paused. Aunt Philomela waited expectantly and so, too, did her niece. But he told them nothing more. That which was not part of the dream—that which was sober reality, he had no heart to repeat.
“That concludes my report,” he said as the silence remained unbroken.
Again a silence. Then Miss Van Patten spoke.
“You’ve been most kind to us. It’s hard to know how to thank you.”
“It isn’t necessary. I’ve been well repaid—if that were essential.”
Somewhere about the house an old clock chimed nine.
Aunt Philomela rose.
“We retire early in the country,” she said wearily, “I’ll call John.”
“Thank you. I trust your dreams will be pleasant.”
“They will be of Alaska. I feel it in my bones.”