"But, wasn't your mother—anywhere?"
"Oh, yes, in father's pocket."
"Your MOTHER—in your father's POCKET!"
So plainly aghast was the questioner that David looked not a little surprised as he explained.
"You don't understand. She is an angel-mother, and angel-mothers don't have anything only their pictures down here with us. And that's what we have, and father always carried it in his pocket."
"Oh——h," murmured Mrs. Holly, a quick mist in her eyes. Then, gently: "And did you always live there—on the mountain?"
"Six years, father said."
"But what did you do all day? Weren't you ever—lonesome?"
"Lonesome?" The boy's eyes were puzzled.
"Yes. Didn't you miss things—people, other houses, boys of your own age, and—and such things?"