On the fourth day Alix got up, but on the fifth she stayed in bed. Mrs. Lansing found her pale and frightened. She had been crying.
“Alix,” she whispered, kneeling beside the bed, “what is it?”
Alix told her amid sobs.
“Oh, my dear,” said Mrs. Lansing, throwing her arms about her, “don’t cry. Don’t worry. The strength will come with the need. In the end you’ll be glad. So will Gerry. So will all of us.”
“It isn’t that,” said Alix, faintly. “Oh, it isn’t that! I’m just thinking and thinking how terrible it would have been if I had run away—really run away! I keep imagining how awful it would have been. It is a nightmare.”
“Call it a nightmare if you like, sweetheart, but just remember that you are awake.”
Drawn by Reginald Birch
“’I USED TO THINK I COULD GO HOME, THAT IT WAS JUST A QUESTION OF BUYING A TICKET. BUT—’”
“Yes,” said Alix, softly, “I am awake now. Mother, I want to go to Red Hill. I know it’s early, but I want to go now. I want to watch the Hill come to life and dress up for the summer. It will amuse me. It’s long since I have watched for the first buds and the first swallows. I won’t mind the melting snow and the mud. It’s so long since I’ve seen clean country mud. I want to smell it.”