Jimmy’s voice broke sleepily through these bitter-sweet memories.
“Barb’ra!” he called, “are you there? I forgot somethin’.”
“What did you forget, dear?” asked the girl, going to his bed.
“I love you, Barb’ra!” murmured the little boy, snuggling his hand in hers.
She stooped to kiss him all warm and sweet with sleep. Then drew the blankets closer about his shoulders.
“It was—a—a—letter,” the drowsily-sweet little voice went on. “I—forgot——”
“Jimmy,” said Barbara the next morning, as she brushed the child’s yellow hair, “what was it you said last night about a letter?”
“Oh, I bringed—no, I brought a letter home to you in my coat pocket, and I forgot to give it to you.”
“It isn’t in either of your pockets, dear. I looked there last night. Try and think what you did with it.”
The little boy looked troubled.