V. The Cry In The Corridor

           AtfirsteachdaywhichpassedbyforMaryLennoxwasexactlyliketheothers.EverymorningsheawokeinhertapestriedroomandfoundMarthakneelinguponthehearthbuildingherfire;everymorningsheateherbreakfastinthenurserywhichhadnothingamusinginit;andaftereachbreakfastshegazedoutofthewindowacrosstothehugemoorwhichseemedtospreadoutonallsidesandclimbuptothesky,andaftershehadstaredforawhilesherealizedthatifshedidnotgooutshewouldhavetostayinanddonothing—andsoshewentout.Shedidnotknowthatthiswasthebestthingshecouldhavedone,andshedidnotknowthat,whenshebegantowalkquicklyorevenrunalongthepathsanddowntheavenue,shewasstirringherslowbloodandmakingherselfstrongerbyfightingwiththewindwhichsweptdownfromthemoor.Sheranonlytomakeherselfwarm,andshehatedthewindwhichrushedatherfaceandroaredandheldherbackasifitweresomegiantshecouldnotsee.Butthebigbreathsofroughfreshairblownovertheheatherfilledherlungswithsomethingwhichwasgoodforherwholethinbodyandwhippedsomeredcolorintohercheeksandbrightenedherdulleyeswhenshedidnotknowanythingaboutit.

           Butafterafewdaysspentalmostentirelyoutofdoorsshewakenedonemorningknowingwhatitwastobehungry,andwhenshesatdowntoherbreakfastshedidnotglancedisdainfullyatherporridgeandpushitaway,buttookupherspoonandbegantoeatitandwentoneatingituntilherbowlwasempty.

           “Tha’gotonwellenoughwiththatthismornin’,didn’ttha’?”saidMartha.