"When I was young parents weren't spoken to like that," said Mrs. Enslee, forgetting how she used to speak to her parents. She paused to muse upon her man-child. She felt sorry for him, but sorrier for herself for having him. As she watched him he began to mumble a gibberish. She bent closer to hear. Then his hand, hanging limply near the floor, began to clench and twitch.
Suddenly from his lips broke a half-strangled gurgle, then a wild shriek of "Persis! Persis!"
His own outcry seemed to waken him. His eyes flew open, and he stared about him as if searching for some one whose absence bewildered him.
His mother peered into his eyes, and he clutched her by the arms, staring at her. Then he mumbled:
"Oh, it's you," and smiled foolishly, and laughed as with a great relief.
"What is it, my boy?" said Mrs. Enslee.
"I must have dropped off to sleep. It was only a dream."
"What was it?" Mrs. Enslee repeated; but he spoke with a sickly cheer:
"That's the one consolation about nightmares, when you wake up—thank God, they're not true!"
"But what did you dream?" Mrs. Enslee demanded till he explained: