“I don’t think he would,” returned the major. “Corney is a better boy—a little—I do think, than he used to be.”

A feeling had grown upon the household as if there was in the house a strange lovely spot in direct communication with heaven—the room where Mark lay shining in his bed, a Christ-child, if a child might bear the name. Whenever the door opened, loving eyes would seek first the spot where the sweet face, the treasure of the house, lay.

That same afternoon, as the major dozed in his chair, the boy suddenly called out in a clear voice,

“Oh, majie, there was one bit of my dream I did not tell you. I’ve just remembered it for the first time.—After what I told you, do you remember?”

“I do indeed.”

“After that, Jesus looked at me for one minute—no, not a minute like on Mama’s watch—but perhaps just a few seconds, and then said just one more thing, ‘Our father, Markie!’ and then I could not see him anymore. But it did not seem to matter the least tiny bit. There was a stone near me, and I sat down upon it, feeling as if I could sit there without moving forever, I was so happy. And it was because Jesus’ father was touching me everywhere. My head felt as if he were counting the hairs of it. And he was not only close to me, but far and far and farther away, and all between. Everywhere was the father! I couldn’t see or feel or hear him, yet I knew he was so near that I couldn’t see or hear or feel him. I am talking nonsense, majie, but I can’t do it better. It was God, God everywhere, and there was no nowhere anywhere. All was God, God, God. And I felt I could sit there forever, because I was right in the middle of God’s heart. That was what made everything look so right that I was anxious about nothing and nobody.”

Here he paused a little.