"What is the reason," continued little Sam, "I always liked her."
"Don't know," was all Peabody Junior had to reply.
"Did you ever see that other eye? Bill," asked the blunt young gentleman, whose head was still running on the green shade.
"Oh, go to sleep, will you, Nosey," cried Peabody Junior. "If you don't leave me alone I'll get up and wollop you."
The flat-featured disappeared with his porpoise face under the bed-clothes and breathed hard, but kept close; and when he fell asleep he dreamed of dragons and green umbrellas all night, at a fearful rate.
"I would'nt be angry, Cousin," said little Sam, when the porpoise gave token that he was hardbound in slumber. "He don't mean to hurt your feelings, I don't believe."
"Pr'aps he don't," Peabody Junior rejoined. "What could I tell him, if I wanted to; all I know is, mother has worn the shade ever since I can recollect anything. I think sometimes I can remember she used to have it on as far back as when I was at the breast, a very little child, and that I used to try and snatch it away—which always made her very sad."
"Don't she ever take it away?" asked little Sam.
"I never saw it off in all my life; nor can I tell you whether my dear mother has one eye or two. I know she never likes to have any one look at it. It makes her melancholy at once; nurse used to tell me there was a mystery about it—but she would never tell me any more. It always scares father when she turns that side of her face on him, that I've noticed; and he always at home sits on the other side of the table from it."
"I wouldn't think any more about it to-night, Cousin," said little Sam. "I know it makes you unhappy from your voice. Don't you miss some one to-night that used to keep us awake with telling pleasant stories?"