It was only three days for Patricia and she never realized the truth for herself. A nurse, a weary but faithful doctor, and Joan kept her company on the Climbing Way which got easier toward the top.
"You take the high road and I'll take the low road
But I'll get to Scotland before you——"
It was Patricia who sang, not Joan, and then she laughed gaily.
"I bet I will beat you out, Joan—but it wasn't—Scotland, you know it—was—home!"
Just before the top was reached Patricia grew quiet and grave. She clung to Joan with one hand and patted Cuff with the other.
"I think," she whispered, "that when dogs and little children can look you in the eye, God can!"
She did not speak much after that—but she sang in fragments, hummed when very tired, and murmured—"Nice little old Joan and Cuff," just before she reached—home!
It was all so crushingly sudden that Joan was dazed and could not feel at all. Fortunately, the nurse arranged to stay with her for a week, and the doctor acted, through all his burdened days, as if an extra load was really a comfort to him. He asked Joan what steps he should take about Patricia, and Joan stared at him.
"You see, Pat just belonged to me," she explained; "and—and well! must I decide anything just now?"
"I think we must—about the body—you know!" The doctor felt his heart beat quicker as he gazed into the wide, tearless eyes.