“And Benjamin, what about Benjamin?”
“Benjamin returned to his father; and Jacob went down into Egypt to live with Joseph.”
The child raised his wet face from her shoulder and looked at her deliberately:
“Was it really like that? Or are you only making it up?”
“No, really, darling. Don’t, don’t cry any more....”
Christie grew calmer, but he was evidently disappointed. He was not satisfied with the end of the story; and yet it was very pretty like that, much prettier than if Joseph had been angry and put Benjamin in prison.
“What a baby, Christie, to go crying like that!” said Dolf. “Why, it’s only a story.”
Cecile did not reply that the story had really happened, because it was in the Bible. She had suddenly become very sad, in doubt of herself. She fondly dried the child’s sad eyes with her pocket-handkerchief:
“And now, children, bed! It’s late!” she said, faintly.
She put them to bed, a ceremony which lasted a long time; a ceremony with an elaborate ritual of undressing, washing, saying of prayers, tucking in and kissing.