“And did you dream”—
“I dreamed he was dead. I dream it every night.”
“But, my child, that does not make it so. Would you like to get into bed here with me? No?—or to go back now to your own bed? No? What, then?”
“I do not want to go back to bed any more. I want to go and find ’Thanase.”
“Why, my child, you are not thoroughly awake, are you?”
“Yes, I want to go and find ’Thanase. I have been thinking to-night of all you have told me—of all you said that day in the garden,—and—I want to go and find ’Thanase.”
“My boy,” said the priest, drawing the lad with gentle force to his bosom, “my little old man, does this mean that you have come to the end of all self-service?—that self is never going to be spelt with a capital S any more? Will it be that way if I let you go?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, my son—God only knows whether I am wise or foolish, but—you may go.”
The boy smiled for the first time in weeks, then climbed half upon the bed, buried his face in the priest’s bosom, and sobbed as though his heart had broken.