“I know,” nodded Paul. “That’s the beauty of dream people . . . they stay any age you want them. You and my beautiful teacher and me myself are the only folks in the world that I know of that have dream people. Isn’t it funny and nice we should all know each other? But I guess that kind of people always find each other out. Grandma never has dream people and Mary Joe thinks I’m wrong in the upper story because I have them. But I think it’s splendid to have them. You know, Miss Lavendar. Tell me all about your little dream boy.”
“He has blue eyes and curly hair. He steals in and wakens me with a kiss every morning. Then all day he plays here in the garden . . . and I play with him. Such games as we have. We run races and talk with the echoes; and I tell him stories. And when twilight comes . . .”
“I know,” interrupted Paul eagerly. “He comes and sits beside you . . . so . . . because of course at twelve he’d be too big to climb into your lap . . . and lays his head on your shoulder . . . so . . . and you put your arms about him and hold him tight, tight, and rest your cheek on his head . . . yes, that’s the very way. Oh, you do know, Miss Lavendar.”
Anne found the two of them there when she came out of the stone house, and something in Miss Lavendar’s face made her hate to disturb them.
“I’m afraid we must go, Paul, if we want to get home before dark. Miss Lavendar, I’m going to in-
