"I had a garden, once, in my old living." He described the garden at St. Withans, and the exercise of visualising the lawns and borders and the orchard under the church-tower and waking the faint echo of his old joy in it won him back to greater confidence. He talked of flowers and bees and birds until there came a knock at the door, when, with joyful alacrity, Annie hurried to open it. Serge came in with paint-box and sketch-book strapped together and slung over his shoulder. He nodded to his father and sat down by the table. Annie brewed him fresh tea and he said: "Jolly place this?" "Delightful," replied Francis. "Don't you think she's looking well?" "Very. I should hardly have known her again." "She's in good hands. Mrs. Entwistle has taken her to her heart--me too, and if you come often enough she'll find room for you. It's delightfully warm and comfortable and roomy. I never knew such a heart. You meet all sorts of delightful people in it, all the nicest people in the Bible, and hundreds of children, and everybody loves everybody else. Don't they Annie?" Annie blushed: "That's only Mr. Serge's nonsense, Mr. Folyat. He goes on talking like that until Mrs. Entwistle shakes with laughter so that the chair you're sitting in creaks. . . . Have you had a good day, Mr. Serge?" "You shall tell me." Serge produced his sketches and Annie looked at them. "That's a lovely one," she said. "May I see it?" asked Francis. She handed him a sheet of paper on which was a drawing of a baby in an apple-tree with the wind blowing in its hair and bringing new wonder into its starry eyes. "Mr. Serge does me one every week," said Annie simply. "I keep them all." Francis held it up close to his face and peered over the top of it at Serge. Very solemnly he returned the drawing to Annie. . . . A moment or two later he leaned forward and said: "I can remember you when you were like that, Serge. It's a long time ago, and so many things have happened since then. You were very big and strong, and you used to laugh a great deal. . . . I remember your being ill, and then, when you were a little older, I remember your asking me all sorts of questions that I couldn't answer. And then, quite suddenly, you weren't a baby any longer and then you became a boy . . ." "And then I went away. That is the whole history of any father and any son. Queer, isn't it? . . . And then we never met again until we came across each other in Mrs. Entwistle's heart." Annie looked puzzled. There were several moments of silence, warm and comforting and, to Francis, very sweet. Serge laughed. "After this," he said, "we may expect to hear that Mrs. Entwistle has been caught up into Heaven. As a matter of fact she lives there all the time, because, though you wouldn't think it to look at her, she is a sort of a fairy." "I should like to be back before dark," said Francis.