ime, six years ago, when they had shown her the tiny, disfigured
face of her son.

"No, it wasn't that. I morember now. It was Unwelcome, but it _means_
that. Is the middle o' my name Unwelcome--what?"

"Oh yes, yes, yes!" she cried, scarcely knowing what she said. The
boy's eyes followed hers to the mirror, and in that brief, awful
space he tasted of the Tree of Knowledge.

With a little cry he stumbled backward into the lighted hall. There
was a slip, and the sound of a soft little body bounding down the
polished stairs.

A good while afterwards Bobby opened his eyes wonderingly. There
seemed to be people near him, but he could not see them at all
distinctly. A faint, wonderful perfume crept to him.

"It's very dark, isn't it?" he said, in surprise. "I can smell a
beautiful smell, but I can't see it. Why, why! It isn't you, is
it?--not my mother? Why, I wasn't 'specting to find-- Oh, I morember
it now--I morember it all! Then I'm glad it's dark. I shouldn't want
it to be as light as _that_ again. Oh no! oh no! I shouldn't want her
to see-- Why, she's crying! What is she crying for?"

He put out a small weak hand and groped towards the sound of bitter
sobbing. Instinctively he knew it was she.

"I'm very sorry. I guess I know what the matter is. It's me, and I'm
very sorry. I never knew it before; no, I never. I'm glad it's dark
now--aren't you?--'count o' that. Only I'm a little speck sorry it
isn't light enough for you to see my legs. They're very straight
ones--you can ask Olga. You might feel of 'em if you thought 'twould
help any to. P'r'aps it might make you feel a very little--just a
_very_ little--better to. They're cert'nly very straight ones. But
then of course they aren't like a--like a--a _face_. They're only
legs. But they're the best I can do."

He ended wearily, with a sigh of pain. The bitter sobbing kept on,
and seemed to trouble him. Then a new idea occurred to him, and he
made a painful effort to turn on his pillow and to speak brightly.

"I didn't think of that-- P'r'aps you think I'm feeling bad 'count o'
the U in the middle o' my name. Is that what makes you cry? Why, you
needn't. _That's_ all right! After--after I looked in _there_, of
course I knew 'bout how it was. I wish you wouldn't cry. It joggles
my--my heart."

But it was his little broken body that it joggled. The mother found
it out, and stopped sobbing by a mighty effort. She drew very close
to Bobby in the dark that was li