“No, I should think not,” said Mrs. Vivyan, smiling; “he is not old enough. I think he is not quite so old as your father.”
“I suppose he is rather young then. I am glad of that. I should never be so much afraid of youngish people as of old ones.”
“Any more questions?” asked Mrs. Vivyan presently. “There is one question you have not asked, Arthur, darling, that I was expecting, and it is the one question that my heart is paining to have to answer.”
“What can it be, mother?” said Arthur wonderingly. “I think I have asked a great many. What can it be?”
And then he thought for a little while very earnestly. At length a troubled look came into his eyes, and he looked at his mother, and said softly—
“I know, mother, I know, and I am rather afraid to ask; but I must, for I want to know. When am I going?” The question came out very slowly.
“Arthur, my own darling little boy,” said his mother, pressing her arm very closely around him, and he could hear the quiver in her voice as she spoke, “it is very soon. We did not tell you until just at the end, when we were obliged to do it; because what was the use of making you unhappy before we need?”
“Well, when is it?” said Arthur.
“It is the day after to-morrow.”
“Oh, mother, mother!” was all Arthur said; and he became very still indeed.