I remember he would get up in the night when you were little, and go prowling about ...

he used to say he was afraid the roof tree would fall in and kill you.

And yet here you are...." She reached out to give him a little pat, as if somehow to reassure him.

The low dropping moon made a square block of light on the uncarpeted floor; outside, the orchard waited for the dawn, and the fields brimmed life up to their very doors.
"You're like him in other ways," she went on.

"Somehow it's brought him back wonderfully the last two or three days, and especially at night when I'd hear you creaking down the stair.