"Good night, David,--you will call me if you want anything, won't you?"
And Carol leaped into bed, desperately afraid a lizard, or a scorpion
or a centipede might lie beneath in wait for unwary pink toes once the
guarding lights were out.
This was the land where health began,--the land of pure light air, of
clear and penetrating sunshine, the land of ruddy cheeks and bounding
blood. This was the land which would bring color back to the pale face
of David, would restore the vigor to his step, the ring to his voice.
It was the land where health began.
She must love it, she would love it, she did love it. It was a rich,
beautiful, gracious land,--gray, sandy, barren, but green with promise
to Carol and to David, as it had been to thousands of others who came
that way with a burden of weakness buoyed by hope.
A shrill shriek sounded outside the tent,--a dangerous rustling in the
sand, a crinkling of dead leaves in the corners of the steps, a ring, a
roar, a wild tumult. Something whirled to the floor in David's room,
papers rattled, curtains flapped, and there was a metallic patter on
the uncarpeted floor of the tent. Carol gave an indistinct murmur of
fear and burrowed beneath the covers.
It was David who threw back the blankets and turned on the lights.
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