"Deep in the dewy shadows of a wood or where
stars walk upon a mountaintop."
More Than Shadow
THE third time it happened she was aware of its strangeness.
Up till then it hadn't mattered or seemed important, but the third time made her realize that something unusual was taking place and that there was cause for alarm.
She had just finished lunch and thought the philodendrons on either side of the mantelpiece needed watering. So, because she had gotten into the habit of saving water during the shortage, she took her glass, which was as full as when the maid had filled it, and started towards the fireplace. Half-way there the glass, for no reason which she could account, slipped from her hand.
The water spilled on the delft blue rug and rapidly began to coagulate into a shape as the glass rolled off towards the fireplace.
She watched the wet shape on the rug. "It is a little dog," she half whispered.
Almost as though an artist had painted it, there on the rug was the outline of a dog, a tiny dog with puffy, curly hair and, due to the way the water had absorbed and the wet and dry patches, it had a most beguiling expression. It was so real that she had to restrain herself from bending over to pick it up.
It looked exactly like a little dog waiting to be lifted into its mistress's arms. It had dimension and a definite personality. It seemed more than a shadow or a wet spot.
Just then Mona remembered that this had happened before—twice.
The first time had been at the table—here in the dining room. Her youngest daughter, aged three, had upset her glass of milk, purposely Mona suspected, knowing her offspring didn't like the bounty of the cow. She was just about to utter a reprimand when the child, Carol, had cried out, "Look, Mummy, it's a little dog."
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