Faith, with her little ark, was still playing quietly upon the bed. I sat down again in my rocking-chair with my face to the window. Now and then the child’s voice broke the silence, asking Where should she put the elephant, and was there room there for the yellow bird? and now and then her mother answered her, and so presently the skies had faded, and so the night came on.
I was thinking that it was Faith’s bedtime, and that I had better light the lamp, when a few distinct, hurried words from the bed attracted my attention.
“Faith, I think you had better kiss mamma now, and get down.”
There was a change in the voice. I was there in a moment, and lifted the child from the pillow, where she had crept. But she said, “Wait a minute, Mary; wait a minute,”—for Faith clung to her, with one hand upon her cheek, softly patting it.
I went over and stood by the window.
It was her mother herself who gently put the little fingers away at last.
“Mother’s own little girl! Good night, my darling, my darling.”
So I took the child away to Phœbe, and came back, and shut the door.
“I thought you might have some message for Roy,” she said.
“Now?”