"No, you are not. The doctor said your sickness was brought on by fatigue and lack of food and sleep. It was your coming to, though, he most dreaded, fearing you would lose your mind."
"Now I see why I am in this room, and why you have made it like the old one," I answered, tears coming to my eyes at the thought of their kindness.
"Yes, we fixed it up like the other so you would think you were in Little Sandy. See," she added, going to the window and throwing back the curtain, "this is not the old square, but another, larger and finer, with a house hidden away in the trees."
"Where all the roads meet, as Uncle Job said," I answered, putting my arm about her and kissing her in such delight of living as I had never known before.
"There; you will bring on your fever again if you act in that way, you wild boy!" she answered, drawing back.
"I don't care if I do," I answered, reaching out and taking her hand and pressing it to my lips.
"Then you don't mind my not telling you all this before?" she asked, as if she had been in doubt how I would take the part she had played in misleading me.
"No, for now I'll not have to leave you again. Tell me, Constance," I asked, after a while, "why has your father not been to see me? I've looked for him every day."
"He had to go back to Little Sandy, but will be here in a few days. It was he who caught you that morning."
"Was it? I couldn't see."