s came a remembrance picture--of a
tiny child playing with his soldiers on the floor. The sunlight lay
over him--she could see it on his little hair and face. She could
hear him talking to the "Captain soldier." She had at the time
called it a sermon, with a text, and laughed at the child who
preached it. She was not laughing now.

"Lissen, Cappen Sojer, an' I'll teach you a p'omise. A p'omise--a
p'omise--why, when anybody p'omises, _they do it!_"

Queer how plainly she could hear Little Silly say that and could see
him sitting in the sun! Just the little white dress he had on--tucks
in it and a dainty edging of lace! She had recognized Sheelah's
maxims and laughed. Sheelah was stuffing the child with notions.

"If anybody p'omises, they do it." It seemed to come to her over the
wire in a baby's voice and to strike against her heart. This mother
of a little son stood suddenly self-convicted of a crime--the crime
of faithlessness. It was not, she realized with a sharp stab of pain,
faith in _her_ the little child at the other end of the line
was exercising, but faith in the Promise. He would keep on
"She-promising" till he fell asleep in his poor little boots--

"Oh!" breathed in acute distress the mother of a little son. For all
unexpectedly, suddenly, her house built of cards of carelessness,
flippancy, thoughtlessness, had fallen round her. She struggled among
the flimsy ruins.

Then came a panic of hurry. She must go home at once, without a
moment's delay. A little son was waiting for her to come and put him
to bed. She had promised; he was waiting. They were to have a regular
little lark--that she remembered, too, with distinctness. She was
almost as uncertain as Murray had been of the meaning of a "lark";
she had used the word, as she had used so many other words to the
child, heedlessly. She had even and odd, uncertain little feeling as
to what it meant to put a little son to bed, for she had never
unlaced or unbuttoned one. She had never wanted to until now. But
now--she could hardly wait to get home to do it. Little Silly was
growing up--the bare brown space between the puffs of his little
trousers and the top rims of his little socks were widening. She must
hurry, hurry! What if he grew up before she got there! What if she
never had a chance to put a little son to bed! She had lost so many
chances; this one that was left had suddenly sprung into prominence
and immense value. With the shock of her awakenin