of Sleep a sentinel stands, an angel in grey garments. The
crimson poppies crown her head and droop to her waist. The floor is
strewn with them, and the silken petals, crushed by the feet of passing
strangers, give out a strange perfume. To enter that door, you must pass
Our Lady of Dreams.

Sometimes she smiles as you enter, and sometimes there is only a
careless nod. Often her clear, serene eyes make no sign of recognition,
and at other times she frowns. But, whatever be the temper of the Lady
at the door, your dream waits for you inside.

The parcels are all alike, so it is useless to stop and choose, but you
must take one. Frequently, when you open it, there is nothing there but
peaceful slumber, cunningly arranged to look like a dream. Once in a
thousand times it happens that you get the dream that is meant for you,
because it all depends upon chance, and so many strangers nightly enter
that door that it is impossible to arrange the parcels any differently.

When the night has passed, and you come back, it is always through the
same door, where the patient sentinel still stands. You are supposed to
give back your dream, so that someone else may have it the next night,
but if she is tired, or very busy, you may sometimes slip through and so
have a dream to remember.

Iris had given back her dream, but a strong impression of East Lancaster
still remained, and it was as though she had been there in the night.
Suddenly she sat up in bed, with her heart wildly throbbing. Why not go
back?

Why not, indeed? Why not take a flying trip, just to see the dear place
again? Why not talk for a few minutes with Mrs. Irving, then slip
upstairs for the emerald, the bit of lace, the feather fan, and the
lonely little mother in the attic?

She could plan her journey so that she would be making her call while
Lynn was at his lesson. When it was time for him to return, she could go
to Doctor Brinkerhoff's and thank him for writing. While there, she
could see Lynn come downhill--of course, not to look at him, but just to
know that he was out of the way. Then she could go up the hill and stay
with Fraeulein Fredrika and the Master until almost train time.

It was practicable and in every way desirable. Perhaps, after she had
seen East Lancaster once more, she would not be so homesick. Iris hummed
a little song as she dressed herself, far happier than she had been for
many months.

Thought and action were never far apart with her