“I don’t know, Bobbie,” he responded, with a heavy sigh. In his interest in the child he had for the moment almost forgotten the absence of his wife.
“Is she coming to-night, papa?” the little fellow continued tremulously.
“No, Bobbie, not to-night.”
“Why isn’t she, papa?” And then, after a short interval of puzzled reflection: “She belongs here, doesn’t she?”
“She can’t come to-night, my child. And you must be a good little fellow, and not ask papa any more about it. Now, it’s time you went to sleep,” he concluded, as he finished his task.
“Papa, are you angry with mamma?”
The childish question hurt him to the quick. “Don’t bother your little head about it, my child. You wouldn’t understand. Remember that she is your mother, and you must love her always.”
“I do, papa. She got me my pony, and my boat, and lots of things. I wish she was here right now.”
“You must be patient, dear, and go to sleep quietly, like a good boy. To-morrow I will get a nice, kind lady to take care of you.”
“I don’t want a nice, kind lady. I want my mamma. She always hears me say my Now-I-lay-me.”