And then I awoke again,
but it was not here--it was in a strange wide place--a sort of
twilight, and there were hills and trees. I stood up, and suddenly
felt a hand in my own, and there was a little child beside me,
looking up at me. I can't tell you what happened next--it is rather
dim to me, but I sate, or walked, or wandered, carrying the child--
and it TALKED to me; yes, it talked in a little clear voice, though
I can't remember anything it said; but I felt somehow as if it was
telling me what might have been, and that I was getting to KNOW it
somehow--does that seem strange? It seems like months and years
that I was with it; and I feel now that I not only love it, but
know it, all its thoughts, all its desires, all its faults--it had
FAULTS, dearest; think of that--faults such as I have, and other
faults as well. It was not quite content, but it was not unhappy;
but it wasn't a dream-child at all, not like a little angel, but a
perfectly real child. It laughed sometimes, and I can hear its
little laughter now; it found fault with me, it wanted to go on--it
cried sometimes, and nothing would please it; but it loved me and
wanted to be with me; and I told it about you, and it not only
listened, but asked me many times over to tell it more, about you,
about me, about this place--I think it had other things in its
mind, recollections, I thought, which it tried to tell me; so it
went on. Once or twice I found myself here in bed--but I thought I
was dying, and only wanted to lose myself and get back to the
child--and then it all came to an end.
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