"I know," Zillah said in trembling tones; "we all miss her sadly, but I suppose it must be harder, perhaps, for you than any of the rest. Still you will soon grow in a measure used to it, no doubt. I have always heard that time assuages the bitterness of grief."
"I can't believe it, I don't believe it!" he cried impatiently; "at least I am sure it will not be so in my case for years, unless I can get away into new scenes that will help me to forgetfulness."
At that instant Stuart, who had got down from his mother's lap to play about the room, tripped and fell to the floor, striking his head against a chair.
He set up a loud scream, and Zillah ran to the rescue, picking him up with a cry of "Oh, poor darling, mamma is so sorry! oh, it is just dreadful how many falls he gets! But there, never mind; it was a naughty chair that hurt my baby so. We'll give it a good whipping," striking it with her hand several times as she spoke.
Stuart ceased screaming to pound the chair energetically with his tiny doubled-up fist, then consented to be bribed into quiet with another piece of candy.
Zillah sat down again with him on her lap, and presently he dropped asleep there.
"He ought to be in bed," remarked Don.
"Yes; but he didn't want to go, and I do so hate to have a battle with him."
"I rather think it will have to come to that sooner or later," said Don, "and I should think the longer you put it off the harder it will be. I've been at Milly's a good deal the last few weeks, besides watching her when she was at home with us, and I think she could give you some valuable hints about managing a child."
"It is a vast deal easier to talk than to act, I can tell you, Don," was Zillah's half-offended retort.