egan its hoarse starting cough.

"Well--so long," he said. "A happy May to you!"

Sophy felt a proud impulse to reply in kind. Then the sad influence of
parting, even for so short a time, melted her. She put her head from the
window.

"You'll come down to Virginia to fetch me back, won't you, dear?" she
asked.

"Don't know. Depends on how the games go," he answered curtly.
"I'll----"

The chuff-chuff of the moving engine drowned the rest of the sentence.

XVI

It was on the twenty-fifth of April that Sophy went to Sweet-Waters. But
in spite of all the familiar, springtide loveliness, this month of May
was not what she had dreamed. She missed Loring. His curt letters
wounded her. No--she could not be happy with this shadow between them.

But if she was not altogether content, Bobby was. He came and leaned
against her knee as she was brushing her hair one morning. He was nearly
six now, and spoke much more plainly. He was very fond of "grown up"
words, which assumed quaint forms under his usage.

"Mother," he said, "couldn't we demain here with Uncle Joe and Aunt
Chartie? Are we _'bliged_ to go back to Mr. Loring?"

Sophy laid down her brush and put her arm around him. His seemingly
unconquerable aversion for Loring was a great grief to her.

"Bobby," she answered, looking gravely into his anxious upturned face,
"don't you understand? Mother is Mrs. Loring now. She _must_ go back to
Morris."

Bobby pondered, lowering his eyes. Then he said slowly:

"Won't your last name ever be the same as mine any more at all, mother?"

"No, darling. But names matter very little. What matters is that you're
my own boy, and I'm your own mother, forever and ever."

Bobby was silent. Then it broke from him:

"I _hate_ you to have his name 'stead of mine!... I.... I hate it
renormously, mother!"

She held the boy close and put her cheek to his.

"Yes, dear. Mother understands how you feel about that. That's natural.
But what hurts me is, that you won't be friends with Morris. You won't
even call him 'Morris' and he's asked you to so often. Can't you do that
much to please mother?"

Bobby got very red. He said in a rather strangled voice:

"Mother, please don't ask me to do that."

"Why, dear?"

"'Cause...." He hesitated--then said in a rush, very low:

"'Cause I don't like him 'nuff to do it."

"Oh, Bobby--that hurts mother."

"I'm sorry," he said gravely.

"Then, won't you try to feel differently--f