"Eddy, dear," said Mrs. Herbert, taking her little boy by the hand, and advancing toward the parlor door with him, "Eddy, dear, let me tell you something."
Her grave tone and look caused a shiver to pass inward toward the heart of the child. He understood, but too well, that the mother, whose word he had trusted so implicitly, had been faithless to her promise.
Poor child! even this advancing shadow of a coming disappointment, darkened his young face and filled his eyes with tears.
Mrs. Herbert sat down on the nearest chair, as she entered the parlor, and drew Eddy to her side. She saw, from his sad face, that words were not required to make him aware that the promised book was not in her possession; and she knew, from former experience, that trouble was before her. Unhappily, she did not feel softened, but rather irritated, toward the child.
"Eddy," she said firmly, yet with as much tenderness as she could assume, "Eddy, you know you promised me to be such a good boy."
"And I have been good," eagerly answered the little fellow, lifting his swimming eyes to her face, "you may ask nurse if I havn't been good all the time."
"I'm sure you have," said Mrs. Herbert, touched by the manner of her child; "and yet, Eddy, I have not brought your book."
The tears, which had been ready to start, now gushed over his face, and a low cry pained the mother's ears.
"Eddy," said she, seriously, "let me tell you about it. You must listen to reason."
Reason! poor, disappointed little one! He had no ear for the comprehension of reasons.