should fall out the window and instead of striking the ground hard, as folk do when they fall out of windows, I should go softly through the earth, and feel it pressing back from my head and closing together behind my heels, and pretty soon I should come out, plump . . . before the Root of Everything and sit there for a long time and watch it grow. . . .
. . . I looked up at the blue, glad that I was so near to it, and thought how much pleasanter it would be to fly right away through the blue and see what colour it was lined with. Pink, maybe—rose-pink, which showed through at sunset when the sun leaped at last through the blue and it closed behind him. Rose-pink, like my best sash and hair-ribbons. . . .
That brought me back. My best sash and hair-ribbons were in my top drawer. Moreover, there were foot-steps on the stairs and at the very door.
“Have you finished?” Mother asked.
I had not even opened the drawer.
“You have been up here one hour,” Mother said, and came and stood beside me. “What have you been doing?”
I began to tell her. I do not envy her her
