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or anything like that, and I want you to listen to me. I know, dear, something of what your mother means to you. I was an only child too, and my mother and I were everything to each other; you can guess what I felt when I lost her, as I can imagine your feelings. But, of course, I had Winthrop then, and besides I was much older than you were, so I know it was much worse for you.”

Alison paused, and glanced at the boy. There was no encouragement to be found in that cold, set countenance, but she summoned her courage again, and went on rather hurriedly.

“Now, Tony, I want you to put your own feelings out of the question for a minute and think only of me, for there is a way in which you can be a tremendous help and comfort to me, and no one else can. You know that on the whole I’m a very happy woman. You know—you can see—that Winthrop is the best husband any woman could possibly have. I—I couldn’t tell you, Tony, how good he is to me, nor how much I care for him—how happy we are———”

Her voice broke a little. She felt as if she were driving little nails into Tony’s heart, as indeed she was, but she went on resolutely.

“God has given me so much more than most people have, Little Boy, but there’s one thing I want still—I have no babies of my own. . . . Tony, do you think—Oh, don’t think I am suggesting that I should try to take your mother’s place—I know so well that no one could or should ever do that—but I’m so fond of you, dear, and I know you’re fond of me too; and you have no mother and I no baby of my very own—I thought—I was wondering, Tony—couldn’t you sometimes just pretend that I was your mother and you my own little boy, and let us comfort each other that way?”

So she made her tremulous, diffident appeal. When it