Then he told Meg about the rooms they had made ready for "John Holt, Junior," as they had called the little child who died so quickly.
"It was her idea," he said. "There was a nursery with picture-paper on the walls. There was a bathroom with tiles that told stories about little mermen and mermaids that she had made up herself. There was a bedroom with a swinging cot, frilled with lace and tied with ribbons. And there were picture-books and toys. The doors never were opened. John Holt, Junior, never slept in his cot. He slept with his mother."
There he broke off a moment again.
"She used to be sorry he wouldn't be old enough to appreciate all this," he said next. "She used to laugh about him and say, he was going to be cheated out of it. But she said he should come with us, so that he could say he had been. She said he had to see it, if he only stared at it and said 'goo.' "
"Perhaps he does see it," said Meg. "I should think those who have got away from here, and know more what being alive really means, would want to see what earth people are trying to do—though they know so little."
"That sounds pretty good," said John Holt. "I like that."
