“G’night,” came in a muffled voice from the pillow.
Laura turned away, but before she reached the stairs the boy called her. She went back at once.
“What is it, Jim? Do you want anything?”
“Yes’m, the light. I guess—you better put it out.”
“Not if you are afraid in the dark, Jim.”
“Yes, Miss Laura, that’s why.”
“But I don’t understand. Can’t you tell me?” she urged gently.
Jim gulped down a troublesome something in his throat before he said in a whisper, “Put your head down close, Miss Laura.”
She turned out the light and as she dropped down beside the bed, a small arm slipped around her neck and a husky little voice whispered in her ear, “It’s ’cause I’m ’fraid inside that I mustn’t have the light left.” Another gulp. “Mother—she said you wasn’t a coward just ’cause you was ’fraid inside, but only when you let the ’fraid get out into the things you do. She said lots of brave men were ’fraid inside sometimes. An’—an’ she said I mustn’t ever be a coward nor tell lies, an’ I promised—cross my heart—I wouldn’t. So that’s why, Miss Laura.”
Again Laura longed to hug the little fellow and kiss him as his mother would have done, but she said only,