He shrieked.

A voice saying: “Darling, darling!” got through the wheel, and he awoke, standing on his bed, with his eyes wide open.

There was his mother, with her hair like Guinevere’s, and, clutching her, he buried his face in it.

“Oh! oh!”

“It’s all right, treasure. You’re awake now. There! There! It’s nothing!”

But little Jon continued to say: “Oh! oh!”

Her voice went on, velvety in his ear:

“It was the moonlight, sweetheart, coming on your face.”

Little Jon burbled into her nightgown:

“You said it was beautiful. Oh!”