Coco slipped her hand into Marcelle's. . . . Quietly she said, "What if he's not there?" "I think he will be there," answered Marcelle, although she, too, was worried that when they reached the hollow in the woods, they would find only leaves and feathers. Morning seemed such a long time ago, and the day had been so uneventful since then: she worried that the soldier was a dream that she and Coco had somehow shared. How disappointed she would be, if he turned out only a dream. Coco knew she would cry if they found the hollow deserted, the silver donkey never to be seen again.