"I had such a funny dream last night," she said. "I dreamed that
I heard a voice calling me from away down in Uncle Stephen's Walk--
'Sara, Sara, Sara,' it kept calling. I didn't know whose it was,
and yet it seemed like a voice I knew. I wakened up while it was
calling, and it seemed so real I could hardly believe it was a
dream. It was bright moonlight, and I felt just like getting up
and going out to the orchard. But I knew that would be silly and
of course I didn't go. But I kept on wanting to and I couldn't
sleep any more. Wasn't it queer?"
When Uncle Alec had gone I proposed a saunter to the farther end
of the orchard, where I had left a book the preceding evening. A
young mom was walking rosily on the hills as we passed down Uncle
Stephen's Walk, with Paddy trotting before us. High overhead was
the spirit-like blue of paling skies; the east was a great arc of
crystal, smitten through with auroral crimsonings; just above it
was one milk-white star of morning, like a pearl on a silver sea.
A light wind of dawn was weaving an orient spell.
"It's lovely to be up as early as this, isn't it?" said the Story
Girl. "The world seems so different just at sunrise, doesn't it?
It makes me feel just like getting up to see the sun rise every
morning of my life after this.
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