He found a clipping telling about a young lady, with her name, who had drowned along the New England coast. He went up there to find out, and he saw her drowning and calling to him, and a green scarf floating around her. He tried to save her, but she was gone. When he was washed ashore, sick but alive, he held a green scarf. And he had the portrait.

"Was it really Jennie? Did the scarf really belong to her? What had happened to time?" he asked himself.

The man, who told us his name was Mr. Wilkinson, said that the whole story left us with one question. Did the man it happened to really believe it? His friends believed it, but he wasn't really sure it happened.

Mommy said she didn't think about the story like that. She thought it was a story to make us think about what we don't really know.

Then we got up to go. He stood up and bowed, and he said, "I will never forget you two young ladies. You will be a dream to me." We thanked him, and, when we left, we talked about the way people we met always wanted to know more about us. Mommy said it was because I was "different," much older than I was.

Now Mommy thinks sometimes about my leaving her and how, somehow, Mr. Wilkinson sensed something different in our lives and what would happen to us.

After we left Harford Road the last time, we rode down there together, we went down the next road, Taylor Avenue, in Parkville. That was the way back to York Road and Towson, where we lived on Providence Road. The corner where we lived was a crossroad to York Road, Belair Road, and Harford Road.

Many times we rode down before that, past a beautiful cemetery that looked like a park. The entrance to the cemetery is on Taylor Avenue between Harford Road and Loch Raven Boulevard. There were flowers all around, and once I said to Mommy, "What is that place?" We drove in, and it was a cemetery with no tombstones, only vases with flowers. "Why, Linda, it's a cemetery. The name is Moreland Memorial Park Cemetery." I said to Mommy, "That's the way a cemetery should be, like a park, so you don't think about death but life." She stopped talking, and for a long time she was very quiet. Then she said, "Yes, Linda, dear, you are right."

Then she said, "Remember our story about the Runaway Bunny? That little bunny always liked to run away, and his Mommy said, 'I'll always come and find you! No matter where you are!' That bunny couldn't get far, and neither can you, my sweet angel."

"I'll always come and find you, too, Mommy," I told her, "wherever you are."

My nurse, Mrs. Thomas, lived so close to the Harford Road that we went to visit her one sunny day when I felt pretty well, soon after my first visit to the hospital, after I had come home. We waited for Mrs. Thomas to come out to the car, when a plump lady with a very pleasant smile walked by with a big bunch of flowers and some Christmas cards.

She came up to Mommy and said, "Have you seen me before?" Mommy said, "This is the first time we've been on this street."

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