“What did she say?”

“I couldn’t remember the words—­it was the way they took away things a body’s afraid of.  It was about things never ‘avin’ really been like wot we thought they was.  Godamighty now, there ain’t a bit of ’arm in ’im.”

“What?” he said with a start.

“’E never done the accidents and the trouble.  It was us as went out of the light into the dark.  If we’d kep’ in the light all the time, an’ thought about it, an’ talked about it, we’d never ‘ad nothin’ else.  ’Tain’t punishment neither.  ‘T ain’t nothin’ but the dark—­an’ the dark ain’t nothin’ but the light bein’ away.  ‘Keep in the light,’ she ses, ‘never think of nothin’ else, an’ then you’ll begin an’ see things.  Everybody’s been afraid.  There ain’t no need.  You believe that.’”

“Believe?” said Dart heavily.

She nodded.

“‘Yes,’ ses I to ’er, ‘that’s where the trouble comes in—­believin’.’  And she answers as cool as could be:  ‘Yes, it is,’ she ses, ’we’ve all been thinkin’ we’ve been believin’, an’ none of us ’as.  If we ’ad what ‘d there be to be afraid of?  If we believed a king was givin’ us our livin’ an’ takin’ care of us who’d be afraid of not ‘avin’ enough to eat?’”

“Who?” groaned Dart.  He sat hanging his head and staring at the floor.  This was another phase of the dream.

“’Where is ‘E?’ I ses. ‘’Im as breaks old women’s legs an’ crushes babies under wheels—­so as they’ll be resigned?’ An’ all of a sudden she calls out quite loud:  ‘Nowhere,’ she ses.  ‘An’ never was.  But ’Im as stretched forth the ‘eavens an’ laid the foundations of the earth, ‘Im as is the Life an’ Love of the world, ’E’s ’ere!  Stretch out yer ‘and,’ she ses, ‘an’ call out, “Speak, Lord, thy servant ‘eareth,” an’ ye’ll ‘ear an’ see.

“‘An’ never you stop sayin’ it—­let yer ‘eart beat it an’ yer breath breathe it—­an’ yer ‘ll find yer goin’ about laughin’ soft to yerself an’ lovin’ everythin’ as if it was yer own child at breast.  An’ no ’arm can come to yer.  Try it when yer go ‘ome.’”

“Did you?” asked Dart.

Glad answered for her with a tremulous—­yes it was a tremulous—­giggle, a weirdly moved little sound.

“When she wakes in the mornin’ she ses to ’erself, ‘Good things is goin’ to come to-day—­cheerfle things.’  When there’s a knock at the door she ses, ‘Somethin’ friendly’s comin’ in.’  An’ when Drunken Bet’s makin’ a row an’ ragin’ an’ tearin’ an’ threatenin’ to ’ave ’er eyes out of ’er fice, she ses, ’Lor, Bet, yer don’t mean a word of it—­yer a friend to every woman in the ‘ouse.’  When she don’t know which way to turn, she stands still an’ ses, ’Speak, Lord, thy servant ‘eareth,’ an’ then she does wotever next comes into ‘er mind—­an’ she says it’s allus the right answer.  Sometimes,” sheepishly, “I’ve tried it myself—­p’raps it’s true.  I did it this mornin’ when I sat down an’ pulled me sack over me ’ead on the bridge.  Polly ‘d been cryin’ so loud all night I’d got a bit low in me stummick an’—­” She stopped suddenly and turned on Dart as if light had flashed across her mind.  “Dunno nothin’ about it,” she stammered, “but I said it—­just like she does—­an’ you come!”