It was night when the Little Girl opened her eyes, and the first thing they saw was the chairful of little girl-clothes the Shining Mother had set beside the bed. Then they saw the Shining Mother. Things came back to the Little Girl by slow degrees. But the look in the Shining Mother’s face—that did not come back. That had never been there before. The Little Girl, in her wise, old way, understood that look, and gasped weakly with the joy and wonder of it. Oh, the joy! Oh, the wonder!
“But I tried to be one,” she whispered after a while, a little bewildered still. “I should have done it, if I hadn’t died. I couldn’t help that; I felt it coming on. Prob’ly, though, I shouldn’t have made a very good one.”
The Shining Mother bent over and took the Little Girl in her arms.
“Dear,” she whispered, “it was the Boy that died. I am glad he died.”
So, though the Ogre and the Shining Mother had not found their Boy, the Little Girl had found a father and mother.
Chapter VI
The Lie
The Lie went up to bed with him. Russy didn’t want it to, but it crept in through the key-hole,—it must have been the key-hole, for the door was shut the minute Metta’s skirt had whisked through. But one thing Russy had to be thankful for,—Metta didn’t know it was there in the room. As far as that went, it was a kind-hearted Lie. But after Metta went away,—after she had put out the light and said “Pleasant dreams, Master Russy, an’ be sure an’ don’t roll out,”—after that!
Russy snuggled deep down in the pillows and said he would go right to sleep; oh, right straight! He always had before. It made you forget the light was out, and there were queer, creaky night-noises all round your bed,—under it some of ’em; over by the bureau some of ’em; and some of ’em coming creepy, cree-py up the stairs. You dug your head deep down in the pillows, and the next thing you knew you were asleep,—no, awake, and the noises were beautiful day-ones that you liked. You heard roosters crowing, and Mr. Vandervoort’s cows calling for breakfast, and, likely as not, some mother-birds singing duets with their husbands. Oh yes, it was a good deal the best way to do, to go right straight to sleep when Metta put the light out.
But to-night it was different, for the Lie was there. You couldn’t go to sleep with a Lie in the room. It was worse than creepy, creaky noises,—mercy, yes! You’d swap it for those quick enough and not ask a single bit of “boot.” You almost wanted to hear the noises.