“To see the Swallowfield chimney over there”…Hilary seemed to be speaking to himself…“and the delphiniums…and the Field of the Pool…and those Lombardies far away on that purple hill. Only there used to be three of them. Even McGinty must be somewhere round, I think. I’m expecting to feel his warm, rough little tongue on my hand any moment. Do you remember the time we lost McGinty and Mary Ann McClenahan found him for us? I really believed she was a witch that night.”

Their conversation was punctuated with “do you remembers.” “Do you remember the night you found me lost on the Base Line road?”…“Do you remember how you used to signal to me from the garret window?”…“Do you remember the time we were so afraid your father was going out west?”…“Do you remember the time the tide caught us in Tiny Cove?”…“Do you remember the time you almost died of scarlet fever?”…“Do you remember”…this was Pat’s question, very tender and gentle…“do you remember Bets?”

“It seems as if your coming had brought her back, too…I feel that she must be up there at the Long House and might come lilting down the hill at any moment.”

“Yes, I remember her. She was a sweet thing. Who is living in the Long House now?”

“David and Suzanne Kirk…brother and sister…friends of mine…they’re away just now.” Pat spoke rather jerkily. “Shall we have our walk back to Happiness now, Hilary?”

Our walk back to Happiness! Was it possible to walk back to happiness? At all events they tried it. They went through a golden summer world…through the eternal green twilight of the silver bush…through the field beyond…over the old stone bridge across Jordan.

“We made a good job of that, didn’t we?” said Hilary. “There isn’t a stone out of place after all these years.”

It was all so like the old days. They were boy and girl again. The wind companioned them gallantly and feathery bent-grasses bathed their feet in coolness. On every hand were little green valleys full of loveliness. Everything was wrapped in the light of other days. The dance of sunbeams in the brook shallows was just as it had been so many years ago. And so they came to Happiness and the Haunted Spring again.

“I haven’t been here for years,” said Pat under her breath. “I couldn’t bear to come…alone…somehow. It’s as lovely as ever, isn’t it?”

“Do you remember,” said Hilary slowly, “the day…my mother came…and you burned my letters?”

Pat nodded. She felt like slipping her hand into Hilary’s and giving him the old sympathetic squeeze. Something in his tone told her that the pain and disillusionment of that memory was still keen.