"It feels so good to get back!" Gloria cried. "As if I had been a long
way off. Why doesn't somebody point out the 'sights'? That big stone
building, now--"
"The library," said Uncle Em, and again Gloria's sweet-toned laugh
rippled out.
"I don't care, it looks different! I believe it's _grown_. And that
block of brick houses--did I ever see that before?"
"You took music lessons in it every week for two years, my dear,"
remarked Aunt Em, gently prosaic.
"Oh, I suppose so, in another age! I've never seen it in this one. This
is the Golden Age!"
Passing the hospital they saw Sal. She was sunning herself with other
convalescents before the door. Her childlike face expressed only calm.
She gazed at them, unsmiling.
"Oh, yes, she is about well," an attendant volunteered, "but we can't
bear to send her home. She's having such a good time in her way. No, she
will never be any different. It was hoped she might be."
"Sal!" Gloria called gently, "I'm going to No. 80 Pleasant Street. Do
you want to send a message?"
"Number Eighty?" Sal repeated slowly.
"Yes, where mother is, Sal. Shall I take a message to your mother for
you?"
"Tell her I ain't been beat once--not nary.
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