That something was quite apart from laws and codes; it came; could not be commanded. It was something that marriage could not give, nor death kill. Something that could exist on the Point. Something that couldn’t be got out of one’s heart, once it had entered in. What was it? It wasn’t duty or just living on. It was something too big to name. Why was the wonder of it crowding all else out––after the long years?
Mary-Clare left the Point behind her. She entered the sweet autumn-tinted woods beyond which lay her home. She hoped––oh! yearningly she hoped––that Larry would not be there, not just yet. She would go for Noreen; she would stay awhile with Aunt Polly and tell her about what had just occurred––the service, but not the secret thing.
Suddenly she stood still and her face shone in the dim woods. Just ahead and around a curve, she heard Noreen’s voice. But was it Noreen’s?
Often, in her wondering moments, Mary-Clare had pictured her little girl as she longed for her to be––a glad, unthinking creature, such as Mary-Clare herself had once been, a singing, laughing child. And now, just out of sight, Noreen was singing.
There was a rich gurgle in the flute-like voice; it came floating along.
“Oh! tell it again, please! I want to learn it for Motherly. It is awfully funny––and make the funny face that goes with it––the crinkly-up face.”
“All right. Here goes!
“Up the airy mountain,
Down the rustly glen––