“While the stars dimly shine
May no sorrow be thine.”
She bent and kissed Robin on the top of his head just in the middle, choosing the place, and into his hair she breathed a repetition of the last words, “May no sorrow be thine.”
And Dion was going to the war.
Robin slipped from his mother’s arm gently and came to his father.
“‘Allo, Fa!” he observed confidentially.
Dion bent down.
“Hallo, Robin!”
He picked the little chap up and gave him a kiss. What a small bundle of contentment Robin was at that moment. In South Africa Dion often remembered just how Robin had felt to him then, intimate and a mystery, confidential, sleepy with happiness, a tiny holder of the Divine, a willing revelation and a soft secret. So much in so little!
“You’ve been playing with Aunt Beattie.”
Robin acknowledged it.