CHAPTER V A FLASH OF MEMORY I found my spirits attuned to the clear sunshine of the new day, and congratulated myself that convalescence promised to be so speedy. Again I had the sense that it was my body only that was weak and exhausted by disease, for my mind seemed singularly elastic, and I felt as if the weight of years and toil had dropped away, and I was entering on a new and higher plane of existence. An unwonted hopefulness, too, gave buoyancy to my waking thoughts. My first conscious act was to look for my flowers. They had been removed to a distant table, and in their place was a larger bouquet, that, for some reason, suggested Adah. "It's very pretty," I thought, "but it lacks the dainty, refined quality of the other. There's too much of it. One is a bouquet; the other suggests the bushes on which the buds grew, and their garden home." From the sounds I heard, I knew the family was at breakfast, and before very long a musical laugh that thrilled every nerve with delight rang up the stairway, and I laughed in sympathy without knowing why. "Happy will the home be in which that laugh makes music," I murmured. "Heaven grant it may be mine. Can it be presumption to hope this, when she showed so much solicitude at my illness? She was crying when my recovery was doubtful, and she entreated me to live. Reuben's words suggested that she was depressed while I was in danger, and buoyant after the crisis had passed. That she feels as I do I cannot yet hope. But what the mischief do she and Adah mean by saying that they owe me so much? It's I who owe them everything for their care during my illness. How long _have_ I been ill? There seems to be something that I can't recall; and now I think of it, Mrs. Yocomb's account last night was very indefinite." My further musings were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Yocomb with a steaming bowl that smelt very savory. "Mrs. Yocomb," I cried, "you're always welcome; and that bowl is, too, for I'm hungry as a cub." "Glad to hear it," said Mr. Yocomb's hearty voice from the doorway. "I'll kill for you a young gobbler that Emily Warren thinks is like the apple of my eye, if you will promise to eat him." "No, indeed," I answered, reaching out my hand. "He is already devoted to Miss Warren's Thanksgiving dinner. May he continue to gobble until that auspicious day." "What! do you remember that?" and Mr. Yocomb cast a quick look of surprise at his wife. "Yes, I remember everything up to a certain point, and then all comes to a full stop. I wish you would bridge over the gap for me." "Richard," interposed Mrs. Yocomb, quickly, "it wouldn't do thee any good to have father tell thee what thee said when out of thy mind from fever. I can tell thee, however, that thee said nothing of which thee need be ashamed." "Well, I can't account for it. I must have been taken very suddenly. One thing is clear: you are the kindest people I ever heard of. You ought to be put in a museum."