ertia to a plane upon which life was a master musician, and
all my veins the strings from which he drew his magic melodies.

IV

A week passed, and brought us to another Sunday. On this morning I
stepped out of bed into the dimness of the dawn light, full of
elation.

'It's only seven weeks now to next visitors' day. In seven weeks I
shall see Ted again. Seven times seven days--why, it's nothing,
really,' I told myself.

By this time I had devised a plan for helping Time on his way. It
hardly commends itself to my mature judgment, but great satisfaction
was derived from it at the time. It consisted merely of telling myself
in so many words that a month comprised eight weeks. Thus, ostensibly,
I had seven weeks to wait. But my secret self knew that the reality
was incredibly better than that. Next Sunday, outwardly, I should have
only six weeks to wait, the following Sunday only five. And then, a
week later, with only a paltry four weeks to wait, my secret self
would be thrilling with the knowledge that actually the day itself had
come, and only an hour or so divided me from Ted. Childish, perhaps,
but it comforted me greatly; and, to some extent, I have indulged the
practice through life. With a mile to walk when tired, I have caught
myself, even quite late in life, comforting myself with the absurd
assurance that another 'couple of miles' would bring me to my
destination! To the naturally sanguine temperament this particular
folly would be impossible, though its antithesis is pretty frequently
indulged in, I fancy.

And so it was while going about my various duties, nursing the
pretence that in seven more weeks I should see my friend again, that I
came face to face with the man himself; then, after no more than one
little week of waiting, and when no visitors at all were due. I
gasped. Ted grinned cordially. Sister Mary was on duty. Ted showed her
a note from Father O'Malley, and she nodded amiably. Thrice blessed
goddess! Her fat, white face took on angelic qualities in my eyes. One
little movement of her hooded head, and I was wafted from purgatory,
not into heaven, but into a place which seemed to me more attractive,
into the freedom of the outside world--Ted's world. Not that I was
permitted to leave the island, but, until the time for evening
milking, I was allowed to walk about the farm and talk at ease with
Ted. By a further miracle of the goddess's complaisance I was
permitted to ignore the Orphanage