THAT night she dreamed of the coat. She saw its soft folds descending on her out of the sky, and she held up her hands to it and caught it to her and wrapped it about her and ran in the wind, singing. And all the dragons came alive and pranced beside her—and she threw off the coat and ran with the dragons, unclothed. And the freedom of it was like life—flooding down on her out of the sky; and then the dragons moved from her—they were receding into the distance, their great heads held high; and she ran, stumbling, after them, alone and naked—and suddenly she was in a crowded street and the people were looking at her, and shame drew about her as a vast garment; she shrank back into it, trying to hide—but there was no cover for her—and she woke with a dry, choking sob.

She got carefully out of bed and tiptoed from the room, closing the door behind her. In the next room, she could see the daylight straggling through the curtains. She threw up the shades and watched it come. A flush of light was in the sky over the mean little houses at the rear; even the houses themselves, not yet touched by the light, had a fresh, waiting look; and in the chicken-yards the hens ran about busily, pecking at something, or nothing. In one of the vacant lots a man was hoeing. His bent back had a look of strength. As she watched him, he stopped his work a moment and looked up at the sky. Then he went on hoeing, with slow strokes.

The rooms were filled with light when she came from her bath; and she threw open the windows, and went about getting breakfast with quick steps.

She put the plates on the table and paused and went to the door and opened it. The little porch outside, half-shaded with vines, was streaked with sunshine along the floor. She stepped out on to it, holding out her hand, as if to test the warmth.

She drew a table from the wall and brought a cloth for it and laid the table for breakfast on the porch.

Presently she looked up. A man in the doorway was surveying her with a smile.

She came across to him and lifted her face.

He bent to kiss it. “Up early, weren’t you!”

“I couldn’t sleep—Do you like it—out here?” She waved her hand.

“Fine!” He surveyed the table. “Couldn’t be beat! Shall I bring things out?”

“I was afraid you might not like it.” She poured his coffee. “Father never liked it—eating out-of-doors—at home.”

“This is home,” said the man. He was sipping his coffee and looking contentedly at the vine-shadows on the floor.

“My other home, I mean.”

“You never had any other home.”

“Well—what I called home—till I knew better!” She laughed the words at him, and he nodded gravely.

“Father used to wear his hat—some days his muffler—if we tried to eat out-of-doors. So we gave it up. I am glad you like it!”

She fell silent, watching the shadows; and he watched her face. She was quiet a long time.

The man finished his breakfast—he looked at her.

“What are you thinking of?” he asked.

She started. “Oh—I—Nothing very much.” She flashed a little look at him and got up from the table.

“Better tell me,” he suggested.

“It wasn’t anything—not anything that will ever be—anything.” She began to gather up dishes.

“Made you look pretty happy,” he said.

“Did it?” she laughed out. She stood a moment, looking thoughtfully at the vine-shadows on the cloth.... “It was a coat I saw at Stewart’s, yesterday—a perfectly absurd coat—for me!”

“No coat could be absurd for you—not if you wanted it!”

“Yes—I wanted it—I suppose.” She looked again at the white cloth and waited. “I think it bewitched me.... It was a Chinese coat, you see!”

He looked at her blankly. “A Chinese coat—for you!”

She nodded. “I told you it was absurd!”

“Well—” He regarded it thoughtfully. “If you want it... But what could you do with—a Chinese coat?”

“That’s what I don’t know.” She was very meek. “I just seemed to think—I wanted it.”

“You couldn’t wear it to church?”

“No-o—” She hesitated. “I could wear it to the opera—if we should go.”

He laughed out. “And to the circus!” He came around and touched her hair where the light fell on it. “How much did it cost—this Chinese thingumabob?”

“Fifty dollars—” It came out slowly—and he whistled softly between his teeth.

“For the opera!” he said.

She threw out her hands. “Of course I didn’t mean it! But you asked me—what I was thinking about——”

“Of course I did!” He was prompt. “And I’ll see what we have—to spare.”

He moved toward the door. “Sure you couldn’t use it for anything else”—he looked back over his shoulder—“except the opera?”

“Well—I could make a kimono of it.” She glanced at him half-pleadingly—then she laughed out. “I don’t want the old thing! I don’t know why I told you!”

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