"And haven't you him now?" Jack slipped a sympathetic hand into her friend's.
"No, I haven't him now." Mrs. Roberts drew the child to her.
"Did he die when he was a little boy?" whispered Jack in an awestruck voice.
"No, not till he was a grown man."
"Oh." Jack pondered over this, then she said: "He was Mr. St. Nick's little boy, wasn't he?"
"Mr. St. Nick? You mean——?"
"Your father," returned Jack. "Don't you think he looks exactly like the pictures in 'Twas the night before Christmas?"
Mrs. Roberts had to smile, for Jack so evidently thought she was paying Mr. Pinckney a compliment. "I never had my attention called to it before," was the reply. "You see I have thought of him only as looking like my father."
This sufficiently explained it to Jack who remarked: "Yes, I suppose that must be so. I should never think of my mother as Mother Goose nor the old woman who lived in the shoe, no matter how she might look or how old she might be." Some one called Mrs. Roberts aside at this juncture, and Jack went over to where the other three were listening to Mr. Pinckney's account of a bee ranch. They had not heard the conversation between Mrs. Roberts and Jack and were surprised when the latter climbed upon Mr. Pinckney's knee and said: "Tell me about your little boy."
An expression came over Mr. Pinckney's face such as Jack had never seen there before, as he put her down abruptly and walked off without a word. Jack gazed after him in astonishment.