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"Oh," sighed Morry, "how I'd like to know what equi-valent means!" but he did not ask the other to look it up. He sank back on his pillows and reasoned things out for himself the best way he could. "To make amends" he felt sure meant to make up. To make up for something given or suffered, perhaps that was what a Rec-om-pense was. For something given or suffered like legs, maybe?
"You think he will let me love him, Morris? Say you think he will!" Morris was Dadsy's other name. Things were getting very strange. "Because I must! Perhaps it will make up a very little if I fold him all up in my love." "Fold him up" that was what the warm shawl had done, and the name of the warm shawl had been Rec-om-pense. Was there another name to it?
What's the matter with dictionaries!" "Now read what it means, Jolly, I mean, please. Don't skip." "'Rec-om-pense: An equi-va-lent received or re-turned for anything given, done, or suff-er-ed; comp-ens-a-tion." "That all? every speck?" "Well, here's another one that says 'To make a-mends, if you like that one any better. Sounds like praying."
Oh, it made up, it made up, just as it had in the other dream! "You Dear Little Boy Whose Legs Won't Go!" he did not catch anything but the first four words; he must have breathed and lost the rest. But the tone was all there. He wanted to ask her if she had brought the Rec-om-pense, but it was such a risk to speak. He thought if he kept on lying quite still he should find out. Perhaps in a minute
They might have been somebody else's, while you lay in the warm, sweet Rec-om-pense. "Will will it last?" he breathed. "Always, Morry." The Gracious Step-one knew his name! "Then Jolly didn't know this kind, we never s'posed there was a kind like this! Real Ones must be like this."
Limp, no-good-legs that wouldn't go? Could there be a Rec-om-pense for those? Could anything ever "make up"? "Supposing you hadn't any legs, Jolly, that would go?" he said, aloud, with disquieting suddenness. Jolly started, but nodded comprehendingly. He had not had any legs for a good many minutes; the telescoping process is numbing in the extreme.
Morry spelled it through again, searching for light. But it was a very dark word. Rec-om-pense, if it meant anything money-y, then they'd made a mistake, for of course you don't spell "pence" with an "s." The dictionary was across the room, and you had to stand up to look up things in it, Morry wished it was not so far away and that you could do it sitting down.
"Guess, you Dear Little Boy! What would you like it to be?" Oh, if he only dared! He swallowed to get up courage. Then he ventured timidly. "A Rec-om-pense." It was out. "Oh, you Guesser you little Guesser! You've guessed the second time!" Was that what it was like?
"Do you think anything could ever Rec-om-pense make up, you know? Especially if you suffered? Please don't speak up quick, think, Jolly." "I'm a-thinkin'." Not to have 'em that would go, not go! Never to kite after Dennis O'Toole's ice-wagon an' hang on behind, nor see who'd get to the corner first, nor stand on your head an' wave 'em "No, sirree!" ejaculated Jolly, with unction, "nothin'."
"Hand him over, then, but you'll have to do the spellin'." "Rec-om-pense, p-e-n-s-e," Morry said, slowly, "I found it in a magazine, there's the greatest lot o' words in magazines! Look up 'rec, Jolly, I mean, please." Dictionaries are terrible books. Jolly had never dreamed there were so many words in the world, pages and pages and pages of 'em!
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