The Lesson

And then Stan had lost the fourth game and they were speaking about his daydreams

— A hermit always longs for visitors, said Loring, until they come, and then he wishes them gone.

— Are you talking about my dream?

— No, no, just speaking to myself. It is what old people do. You remembered those dreams very clearly, didn’t you?

— I have been trying to. I remember them partly, and make it up partly — make up what happened.

— I see, she said.

She looked at the boy in front of her. He was looking at her very closely; she felt herself being looked at. Who is it, she wondered, who is looking at me? If it is you, please put your hand out and touch my arm.

The boy sat and did nothing.

A moment passed.

Put your hand out and touch my arm.

But nothing happened. Loring was suddenly seized with a grave fear. Was it all a cruel trick? She stood up and rushed out of the room. The boy jumped up and followed after her. She stopped in the pantry, leaning against the shelves. Was she crying?

— Are you all right? asked Stan.

She knelt down next to him.

— I’m all right, she said.

— Will you tell me a story?

— I will.