"That is how it is, Gilbert. This is not Little Sandy, but Appletop," she replied, pressing her face down close beside mine. After a while, raising her head and smiling on me in tenderest love, she added: "Are you glad, Gilbert!"
"Yes, you being here," I answered, not so much surprised after all, if the truth were told, for I could never quite make myself believe that some part of my dream was not true. "I so longed to see you after we left Little Sandy," I went on, "that I always wished myself back, though a hundred Moths and Aunt Janes were in the way."
"Then you are not worried?" she asked, kissing me again.
"No; why should I be? but have I been sick long?"
"Yes, many weeks."
"How did it happen? I can't remember that I was ailing," I answered.
"You broke down that morning when you came to our door, and for weeks knew nobody, but raved continually about Moth and Burke and the wild animals that had you imprisoned in a tree of some kind."
"Did I talk about such things?" I asked
"Yes."
"I'm a poor stick, always breaking down and making a show of myself," I answered, ashamed of my weakness.