Faith was at the old house, constantly. Her aunt craved her presence, and drew her more and more to herself. The strong love, kept down by a stiff, unbending manner, so, for years--resisting almost its own growth--would no longer be denied or concealed. Faith Gartney had nestled herself into the very core of this true, upright heart, unpersuadable by anything but clear judgment and inflexible conscience. "I had a beautiful dream last night, Miss Faith," said Glory, one morning, when Faith came over and found the busy handmaiden with her churn upon the doorstone, "about Miss Henderson. I thought she was all well, and strong, and she looked so young, and bright, and pleasant! And she told me to make a May Day. And we had it out here in the field. And everybody had a crown; and everybody was queen. And the little children danced round the old apple tree, and climbed up, and rode horseback in the branches. And Miss Henderson was out there, dressed in white, and looking on. It don't seem so--just to say it; but I couldn't tell you how beautiful it was!" "Dreams are strange things," said Faith, thoughtfully. "It seems as if they were sent to us, sometimes--as if we really had a sort of life in them." "Don't they?" cried Glory, eagerly. "Why, Miss Faith, I've dreamed on, and on, sometimes, a whole story out! And, after all, we're asleep almost as much as we're awake. Why isn't it just as real?" "I had a dream that night of the fire, Glory. I never shall forget it. I went to sleep there, on the sofa. And it seemed as if I were on the top of a high, steep cliff, with no way to get down. And all at once, there was fire behind me--a burning mountain! And it came nearer, and nearer, till it scorched my very feet; and there was no way down. And then--it was so strange!--I knew Mr. Armstrong was coming. And two hands took me--just as his did, afterwards--and I felt so safe! And then I woke, and it all happened. When he came, I felt as if I had called him." The dasher of the churn was still, and Glory stood, breathless, in a white excitement, gazing into Faith's eyes. "And so you did, Miss Faith! Somehow--through the dreamland--you certainly did!" Faith went in to her aunt, and Glory churned and pondered. Were these two to go on, dreaming, and calling to each other "through the dreamland," and never, in the daylight, and their waking hours, speak out? This thought, in vague shape, turned itself, restlessly, in Glory's brain. Other brains revolved a like thought, also. "Somebody talked about a 'ripe pear,' once. I wonder if that one isn't ever going to fall!" Nurse Sampson wondered thus, as she settled Miss Henderson in her armchair before the window, and they saw Roger Armstrong and Faith Gartney walk up the field together in the sunset light. "I suppose it wouldn't take much of a jog to do it. But, maybe, it's as well to leave it to the Lord's sunshine. He'll ripen it, if He sees fit."