Major Hunt sat down on the sofa, disentangled Michael from his leg, and lifted him with his good arm.
“It isn’t a dream, really, I suppose, Stella?” he said. “I won’t wake up presently? I don’t want to.”
“No; it’s just a blessed reality,” she told him, smiling. “Hang up Daddy’s cap, Geoff: steady, Alison, darling—mind his hand. Don’t worry about anything, Douglas—only—you’re home.”
“I don’t even want to ask questions,” said her husband, in the same dazed voice. “I find one has no curiosity, when one suddenly gets to heaven. We won’t be going away from heaven, though, will we?”
“No—we’re permanent residents,” she told him, laughing. “Now get quite comfy; we’ll all have tea together.”
“Tea’s is lovely here,” confided Alison to him. “They’s cweam—an’ cakes, evewy day. An’ the tsickens make weal eggs, in nesses!”
“And I can ride. A pony, Daddy!” Geoffrey’s voice was quivering with pride. He stood by the couch, an erect little figure.
“Why, he’s grown—ever so much!” said Major Hunt. “They’ve all grown; you too, my little fat Michael. I left white-faced babies in that beastly flat. And you too——” She bent over him. “Your dear eyes have forgotten the old War!” he said, very low.
There was a heavy knock at the door. Entered Eva, resplendent in a butterfly cap and an apron so stiffly starched that it stood away resentfully from her figure. By no stretch of imagination could Eva ever have been called shy; but she had a certain amount of awe for her master, and found speech in his presence a little difficult. But on this occasion it was evident that she felt that something was demanded of her. She put her burden of buttered toast on a trivet in the fender, and said breathlessly:
“’Ope I see yer well, sir. And ain’t this a nice s’prise!”