"'Who are you?' says I again, looking at her.
"She looked at me with her terrible pleading eyes and did not say
anything.
"'What are you?' says I. Then she went away. She did not seem to
run or walk like other children. She flitted, like one of those
little filmy white butterflies, that don't seem like real ones they
are so light, and move as if they had no weight. But she looked
back from the head of the stairs. 'I can't find my mother,' said
she, and I never heard such a voice.
"'Who is your mother?' says I, but she was gone.
"Well, I thought for a moment I should faint away. The room got
dark and I heard a singing in my ears. Then I flung my coat onto
the bed. My hands were as cold as ice from holding it, and I stood
in my door, and called first Mrs. Bird and then Mrs. Dennison. I
didn't dare go down over the stairs where that had gone. It seemed
to me I should go mad if I didn't see somebody or something like
other folks on the face of the earth. I thought I should never
make anybody hear, but I could hear them stepping about downstairs,
and I could smell biscuits baking for supper. Somehow the smell of
those biscuits seemed the only natural thing left to keep me in my
right mind.
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