More and more the need was in me ... a need, as I saw it, to prove to the boy that he wasn’t without a friend now that Benedict Sherbrooke was dead. Whenever I had an opportunity I strolled up to the chalet. The carved wooden boat still lay on the bed, as I’d left it. But one afternoon, as I walked up the track between the tender leafed bushes, I had a curious premonition that I would find Willi there that day. If this sounds too dramatic and improbable, I can say with truth that it came as no surprise when I opened the door and saw Willi standing between the easel and the bed. He looked startled, but perhaps it was due to his deafness, which had given him no warning of my approach. I gave him a bright smile and held out my hand invitingly. He stared at it, took a small step backward, then hesitated. I stretched my hand still further towards him. Perhaps, I thought with compassion, shaking hands was an entirely unknown experience in his restricted life. I waited, not going any nearer, but willing him to come to me.
