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The Magic

           Butshehadbeentiredenoughtosleepdeeplyandprofoundly—toodeeplyandsoundlytobedisturbedbyanything,evenbythesqueaksandscamperingsofMelchisedec’sentirefamily,ifallhissonsanddaughtershadchosentocomeoutoftheirholetofightandtumbleandplay.

           Whensheawakeneditwasrathersuddenly,andshedidnotknowthatanyparticularthinghadcalledheroutofhersleep.Thetruthwas,however,thatitwasasoundwhichhadcalledherback—arealsound—theclickoftheskylightasitfellinclosingafteralithewhitefigurewhichslippedthroughitandcroucheddownclosebyupontheslatesoftheroof—justnearenoughtoseewhathappenedintheattic,butnotnearenoughtobeseen.

           Atfirstshedidnotopenhereyes.Shefelttoosleepyand—curiouslyenough—toowarmandcomfortable.Shewassowarmandcomfortable,indeed,thatshedidnotbelieveshewasreallyawake.Sheneverwasaswarmandcozyasthisexceptinsomelovelyvision.

           "Whatanicedream!"shemurmured."Ifeelquitewarm.I—don’t—want—to—wake—up."

           Ofcourseitwasadream.Shefeltasifwarm,delightfulbedclotheswereheapeduponher.ShecouldactuallyFEELblankets,andwhensheputoutherhandittouchedsomethingexactlylikeasatin-coveredeider-downquilt.Shemustnotawakenfromthisdelight—shemustbequitestillandmakeitlast.

           Butshecouldnot—eventhoughshekepthereyesclosedtightly,shecouldnot.Somethingwasforcinghertoawaken—somethingintheroom.

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Roboto Lora
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