Still drowned in sleep, Marise cried out, “What?  What’s that?” and then, “Oh, you, Elly.  What’s the matter, dear?  Notions again?”

“Oh, Mother, it was an awful dream this time.  Can’t I get into bed with you?”

“Why yes, come along, you dear little silly.”

The fumbling approach to the bed, Marise holding the sheets open and stretching out her hand through the cold darkness towards the little fingers groping for her; the clutch at her hand with a quick anguish of relief and joy.  “Oh, Mother!”

Then the shivering body rolling into bed, the little cold arms tight around her neck, the cold smooth petal-like cheek against hers.

Marise reached over beyond Elly and tucked the covers in with one arm, drew the child closer to her, and herself drew closer to Neale.  She wondered if he had been awakened by Elly’s voice, and the little stir in the room, and hoped he had not.  He had been off on a very long hard tramp over mountain trails the day before, and had been tired at night.  Perhaps if he had been wakened by Elly he would drowse off again at once as she felt herself doing now, conscious sleepily and happily of Elly’s dear tender limbs on one side of her and of Neale’s dear strong body on the other.

* * * * *

The strong March wind chanted loudly outside in the leafless maple-boughs.  As Marise felt her eyelids falling shut again it seemed to her, half-awake, half-asleep, that the wind was shouting out the refrain of an old song she had heard in her childhood, “There’s room for all!  There’s room for all!  What had it meant, that refrain?  She tried drowsily to remember, but instead felt herself richly falling asleep again, her hands, her arms, her body.

“There’s room for all!  There’s room for all!”

She was almost asleep. . . .

Someone was speaking again.  Elly’s voice, calmer now, wistful and wondering, as though she were lying awake and trying to think.

“Mother.”

“Yes, dear, what is it?

“Mother, aren’t you and father afraid of anything?”

* * * * *

Marise was wide-awake now, thinking hard.  She felt Neale stir, grope for her hand and hold it firmly . . .  Neale’s strong hand!

She knew what she was saying.  Yes, she knew all that it meant when she answered, “No, Elly, I don’t believe we are.”