we had where all the leaves we wanted most were torn out, and we had to make the rest up ourselves?”
There was one story Meg found John Holt liked better than all the rest. It was the one about the City Beautiful into which she used to follow Christian in the days when she and Robin lay in the Straw Parlour. It had grown so real to her that she made it very real and near in the telling. John Holt liked the way she had of filling it with people and things she knew quite well. Meg was very simple about it all, but she told that story well; and often when they were resting in some beautiful place alone, John Holt would lead her back to it, and sit beside her listening with a singular expression in his eyes. Ah, those were wonderful days!
Ben and his mother shared them, though they were not always with John Holt and Robin and Meg. John Holt made comfortable plans for them, and let them wander about and look their fill.
“It’s a great thing for him, Mr. Holt,” said the poor woman once, with a side glance at Ben. “Seems like he’s been born over again. The way he talks when we go home at night is as if he’d never be tired again as long as he lives. And a month ago, I used to think he’d wear himself out fretting. Seemed like
