"I never go away," he said. "I'm always here. I've seen everything you've been doing, and a very dull time you've been making of it."
He talked to her and told her about some of the things the other children in the Square were doing. She was interested a little, but not very much; she still thought a great deal more about herself than about anything or anybody else.
"Do they all love you?" she said.
"Oh, no, not at all. Some of them think I'm horrid. Some of them forget me altogether, and then I never come back, until just at the end. Some of them only want me when they're in trouble. Some, very soon, think it silly to believe in me at all, and the older they grow the less they believe, generally. And when I do come they won't see me, they make up their minds not to. But I'm always there just the same; it makes no difference what they do. They can't help themselves. Only it's better for them just to remember me a little, because then it's much safer for them. You've been feeling rather lonely lately, haven't you?"
"Yes," she said. "It's stupid now all by myself. There's nobody to ask questions of."
"Well, there's somebody else in your house who's lonely."
"Is there?" She couldn't think of any one.
"Yes. Your father."
"Oh! Father——" She was uninterested.
"Yes. You see, if he isn't——" and then, at that, he was gone, she was alone and fast asleep.