"Yes, and mother too."
"That was a dream, Frank, and you mustn't think any more about it."
The boy shook his head on the pillow. "No dream," he said. "She lay down on the bed there beside me, and put her arms round me like at Mrs. Pemberton's, where we lived before I came here; and she cried like at Mrs. Pemberton's, and I asked her to take me back to Mrs. Pemberton's, and she said she would, only you wouldn't let me go. Won't you let me go?"
"We'll see in the morning."
"And won't Aunt Hetty let Freddie come too? for I had no little boy to play with at Mrs. Pemberton's."
"We'll talk to Aunt Hetty about it."
"And mother has spots, red spots, on her face now, and there used to be no spots. And why won't you let me go? for I love my mother more than I love you."
"We'll talk about all that in the morning; but it is very late now, and all good little boys are asleep."
"And all good fathers and mothers asleep too?"
"Well, yes; most of them."