t eat.

ELSIE.

I know where there are some little cakes.

TEDDY.

(_Eagerly._) Could you get them?

ELSIE.

Not alone. I'm afraid.

TEDDY.

I'll go with you. (_They get down out of the big chair._) Do we go to
school the next day after it?

ELSIE.

Yes; and wear all black. (_Sobs._) Poor papa.

TEDDY.

(_Choking._) Don't cry.

ELSIE.

You're crying too.

TEDDY.

No, I ain't! (_Crying._)

(_She kisses him. He is comforted, but very much ashamed._)

ELSIE.

Do you think we can go to the circus next week just the same?

TEDDY.

I don't care about circuses now.

ELSIE.

Neither do I. I don't want to go anyway. Let's find the cakes.

TEDDY.

And then we'll make a coach out of the chairs, and you'll drive me four
in hand.

[_They go out of the room smiling._

Maternity

Three Letters and a Cable from Mrs. Stanton, a Widow

I

_To Robert N. Stanton, Esq., her son_ (_and only child_)

Venice, Thursday.

My Darling Boy:

Your letter reached me a few moments ago. We were just starting off to
see the Tintorettos in the Scuola, but I opened your envelope before I
stepped into the gondola, and read enough in the first few lines to let
the others go on without me.

First, let me say this; no one in all the world wishes you more joy,
more real happiness, than your mother. I wish it more than anything
else in the world, and have prayed for it for you every night of my
life since you first came into this world. And I've always counted a
wife for you as one of the chief joys of your future. I have always
wanted you to marry, only I have always said to myself--not yet; I
can't spare him yet. Mothers begin their children's lives by being the
most unselfish beings in the world; and then, as we grow older, I'm
afraid we are inclined to go to the other extreme. I won't tell a
falsehood and say I am glad you are going to be married now. Forgive
me, dear, forgive me; but in my heart there is still the same cry--"Not
yet! not yet!"

Oh, I know I'm wrong! It _is_ to be, and I accept it; but it seems so
sudden; and, after all, I was so unprepared, and you are my life,
dear--my everything. You must let me sigh just a little; I'll promise
to be all smiles at the wedding. When you first laughed in the sun, and
twinkled your baby eyes at the stars I was not a very happy woman. You
were only six months old when I divorced your father. (How much I have
regretted that step since. It woul