"Oh, I want to go where the daisies are calling me! Don't you see how they turn and beckon and——" His feeble voice broke in a sob.
"Mother's man must have his milk punch," said Nona, going into the next room to prepare it.
Instantly the boy whispered:
"Father, pick me up, and carry me; quick!"
After a moment Father Temple went into the adjoining apartment. His wife stood shaking the milk into froth, and her glance slipped from his face with no more evidence of recognition than if she had looked at the wall.
"Nona, there has been a dreadful change since yesterday. The time will soon come when you can find comfort only in remembering you denied him nothing. Well wrapped up, a few moments in the sunshine will not harm him."
She passed him without reply, and when the milk punch had been given, she stooped suddenly and kissed her child twice. His wasted arms crept feebly to her neck.
"Please, mother—the daisies."
"If I let you go a little while, you must not ask to stay."
She buttoned his flannel dressing-gown about his throat, wrapped him in her shawl, and put on his little grey cloth cap.