“She’d be surprised to see it in a paper, wouldn’t she?” she laughed.
The Storyist agreed that she would.
When she went out she held tightly several sheets of typewriter paper and a newly-sharpened soft pencil. She was eager to begin. She set herself down at the tiny desk Lady-Mother had given her and everything was still for a long time.
Of course she was very little to think of trying to write a story, but O, little Dear-My-Love, she knew perfectly well just what she wanted to say!
And so she worked very hard indeed and wrote as fast as she could make her letters.
The Dream
And that night, little Dear-My-Love, an odd thing happened. It was some time after Lady-Mother had kissed her and, turning out the light, had gone softly away, that the Child heard a voice say, right in her ear: