Page:A child of the Orient (IA childoforient00vakarich).pdf/105

 We linked arms and walked about the garden. She still wore her ridiculous trousers.

"Didn't they put you to bed?" I asked.

"No. I didn't want to go—and I don't go unless I want to."

I stared at her in amazement. "And do the elders let you?"

She nodded.

"They put me to bed every night—at the same hour," I confided, with great pity for myself.

She put her arm around me and kissed me, and though she said nothing I knew that she felt the tragedy of this.

We plucked dew-soaked flowers together, talking all the time of those things which belong to childhood alone; for children are nearer to the world from which they have come, and when they meet, they naturally talk of the things they remember, which the elders have forgotten—and because they have forgotten, call unreal.

We caught some fireflies for her forehead, too, and thus we were two cyclopses instead of one. I had to tell Sitanthy about them, for she being a Turkish child knew nothing of them. Then I inquired about the goddess of the garden; but Sitanthy only said that there was no young woman in their house except their halaïc.

When I was ready to go, she let me out of the gate, and I started back to my home. I was a little cold. A heavy dew was falling, and my