In the Closed Room | Page 4

the Park in the Spring, she had wandered
away from her mother to a sequestered place among shrubs and trees,
all waving tender, new pale green, with the leaves a few early hot days
had caused to rush out and tremble unfurled. There had been a stillness
there and scents and colours she knew. A bird had come and swung
upon a twig quite near her and, looking at her with bright soft full eyes,
had sung gently to her, as if he were speaking. A squirrel had crept up
onto her lap and had not moved when she stroked it. Its eyes had been
full and soft also, and she knew it understood that she could not hurt it.
There was no mistake in her being among the new fair greenness, and
the woodland things who spoke to her. They did not use words, but no
words were needed. She knew what they were saying. When she had
pushed her way through the greenness of the shrubbery to the driveway
she had found herself quite near to an open carriage, which had stopped
because the lady who sat in it was speaking to a friend on the path. She
was a young woman, dressed in delicate spring colours, and the little
girl at her side was dressed in white cloth, and it was at the little girl
Judith found herself gazing. Under her large white hat and feathers her
little face seemed like a white flower. She had a deep dimple near her
mouth. Her hair was a rich coppery red and hung heavy and long about
her cheeks and shoulders. She lifted her head a little when the child in
the common hat and frock pressed through the greenness of the bushes
and she looked at Judith just as the bird and the squirrel had looked at
her. They gazed as if they had known each other for ages of years and

were separated by nothing. Each of them was quite happy at being near
the other, and there was not in the mind of either any question of their
not being near each other again. The question did not rise in Judith's
mind even when in a very few minutes the carriage moved away and
was lost in the crowd of equipages rolling by.
At the hottest hours of the hot night Judith recalled to herself the cool
of that day. She brought back the fresh pale greenness of the nook
among the bushes into which she had forced her way, the scent of the
leaves and grass which she had drawn in as she breathed, the nearness
in the eyes of the bird, the squirrel, and the child. She smiled as she
thought of these things, and as she continued to remember yet other
things, bit by bit, she felt less hot--she gradually forgot to listen for the
roar of the train--she smiled still more--she lay quite still--she was
cool--a tiny fresh breeze fluttered through the window and played about
her forehead. She was smiling in soft delight as her eyelids drooped
and closed.
"I am falling awake," she was murmuring as her lashes touched her
cheek.
Perhaps when her eyes closed the sultriness of the night had changed to
the momentary freshness of the turning dawn, and the next hour or so
was really cooler. She knew no more heat but slept softly, deeply,
long--or it seemed to her afterwards that she had slept long--as if she
had drifted far away in dreamless peace.
She remembered no dream, saw nothing, felt nothing until, as it seemed
to her, in the early morning, she opened her eyes. All was quite still and
clear--the air of the room was pure and sweet. There was no sound
anywhere and, curiously enough, she was not surprised by this, nor did
she expect to hear anything disturbing.
She did not look round the room. Her eyes remained resting upon what
she first saw--and she was not surprised by this either. A little girl
about her own age was standing smiling at her. She had large eyes, a
deep dimple near her mouth, and coppery red hair which fell about her
cheeks and shoulders. Judith knew her and smiled back at her.

She lifted her hand--and it was a pure white little hand with long
tapering fingers.
"Come and play with me," she said--though Judith heard no voice
while she knew what she was saying. "Come and play with me."
Then she was gone, and in a few seconds Judith was awake, the air of
the room had changed, the noise and clatter of the streets came in at the
window, and the Elevated train went thundering by. Judith did not ask
herself how the child had gone or how she had come.