“If it is really only a step.” And she went with him, as he answered:
“Yes, almost literally.”
He put aside the bushes, and ten feet away came where, from under a broad, mossy stone, a gush of water broke forth with a brisk air of liking it. She stood still, pleased with that she saw.
“The dear, sweet, little thing!” she cried.
“It seems glad to get out,” he said. “Perhaps it has some strange craving for sunshine; and think what a journey underground in the darkness, like a soul in prison.”
“Go on,” she said, still looking down, and considering the fine wholesomeness of its untainted life.
“How it got a little help here, and strength there, and climbed up from under the bases of the hills, and of a sudden found light and voice and purpose, and goes on its way, not minding obstacles. Pretty, isn’t it? It seems so eager.”
“Yes. I wonder will the sea answer its riddle.” It was a quite alarming little parable to this quick-witted young woman. “How it hurries! And it reminds me I too must be going. It says, ‘Come.’”
“Does it, indeed? But it does not say, ‘Go.’”
“I am so sorry I have missed Dorothy.”