'Yes, yes; come, dear.'
In the library he sat down, and took Hughie upon his knee, and pressed the soft little cheek against his own. Without mention of baby, the child asked at once if his father would not read to him as usual.
'I don't think I can tonight, Hughie.'
'Why not, Father? Because baby is dead?'
'Yes. And Mother is very poorly. I must go upstairs again soon.'
'Is Mother going to be dead?' asked the child, with curiosity rather than fear.
'No! No!'
'But—but if mother went there, she could fetch baby back again.'
'Went where?'
Hughie made a vague upward gesture.