A very tall lady came toward her walking slowly up the hill. She was dressed in black, with a long thin veil turned back from her face. She looked restlessly from side to side, as though trying to find somebody in the shadows. This seemed quite natural to Easter. Timidity or shyness with strangers was unknown to her. She was glad to see somebody, and the tall lady’s face was very gentle.
“Have you lost anybody?” Easter asked as they met.
The tall lady stopped, and though she looked straight down at Easter, the child was uncomfortably conscious that she didn’t really see her.
“I have lost my only son,” said the lady.
“You, too!” cried Easter, and what she could not say to Miss Radley she found it easy to say now to this pale lady who looked at her so strangely. “Oh, I am sorry!”
And she took one of the lady’s hands in both her own.
The lady did not draw her hand away; with her eyes still fixed on Easter’s face with that queer, unseeing look, she said: “Dear child! And you?”
“Not yet,” said Easter. “Not yet—at least, they say so, but I’m dreadfully afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid,” said the lady. “Don’t be afraid. That’s what he always said.”
“Everyone,” said Easter, and her hard little voice grew soft, “everyone seems losing sons and people. Won’t you never, never find him again?”