"He has forgotten us," confessed the children as they went to bed.
"Suppose he has too much to think of," said Ridgie; "he can't remember everything."
Christine never knew quite how long she had been asleep that night, before she distinctly heard muffled mutterings from her brother Ridgie's bed the other side of their little room. Surely Ridgie couldn't be saying his prayers at this time of night; then Christine was certain she heard half-smothered sobs.
"Ridgie, what's the matter; are you crying?" demanded Christine. The sobs became very audible now, and even an apparent effort to stifle them with the bed-clothes did not seem in any way to lessen them.
Christine pressed the button of the electric light, and in the sudden illumination regarded her brother across the room.
"Ridgie, why are you crying? are you in pain? have you eaten too much?"
"No," sobbed Ridgie, "no, but oh! Chrissie, I've—I've—we've eaten
Lal."
Christine sat up in bed.
"Ridgie," demanded Christine, "are you dreaming?"
"No," whispered Ridgie, between his sobs; "don't you remember—