The vision of his mother ... he raced home against the thunder he could see above them. Great drops of rain were already on the pavement; the day was night. He burst into the kitchen where his mother worked. “My! it is going to storm.” He saw that somehow it was still light in the kitchen. It was different from outdoors. There about his mother was a bright calm spot of day in the body of storm.
She said: “Well, David, you got home in time. What are you worrying for?”
David looked at his companion. Tom Rennard was clad in strangeness. David looked at Tom Rennard and the room where his mother worked receded: he could burst in on it no more, hear her say:
“Well, David, you got home in time. What are you worrying for?”
It was all moving away and his arms were helpless. There was Tom looking at his watch. Tom looked at him, who somehow was breathless beside him.
“Well, we got here in time. Fifteen minutes ahead. What are you worrying for?”
A shudder through David. The world was magic—black magic. He went beyond the station to a little hedge where a tree stood alone. He sat there alone. His heart made a beating music through his head. He held his head in his hands, there were tears in his mouth.
“Mother, mother,” he murmured. “I miss you, mother.”
The train crashed into the station: he had to return.