place that day was with her boy. What a wreck he had made of things! He
was humbled as well as stricken, poor Peter!

In the morning he sent a note to McLean, asking him to try to trace the
mother and inclosing the music-hall clipping and the letter. The letter,
signed only "Mamma," was not helpful. The clipping might prove valuable.

"And for Heaven's sake be quick," wrote Peter. "This is a matter of
hours. I meant well, but I've done a terrible thing. Bring her, Mac, no
matter what she is or where you find her." The Portier carried the note.
When he came up to get it he brought in his pocket a small rabbit and
a lettuce leaf. Never before had the combination failed to arouse and
amuse the boy. He carried the rabbit down again sorrowfully. "He saw
it not," he reported sadly to his wife. "Be off to the church while
I deliver this letter. And this rabbit we will not cook, but keep in
remembrance."

At eleven o'clock Marie called Peter, who was asleep on the horsehair
sofa.

"He asks for you."

Peter was instantly awake and on his feet. The boy's eyes were open and
fixed on him.

"Is it another day?" he asked.

"Yes, boy; another morning."

"I am cold, Peter."

They blanketed him, although the room was warm. From where he lay he
could see the mice. He watched them for a moment. Poor Peter, very
humble, found himself wondering in how many ways he had been remiss. To
see this small soul launched into eternity without a foreword, without a
bit of light for the journey! Peter's religion had been one of life and
living, not of creed.

Marie, bringing jugs of hot water, bent over Peter.

"He knows, poor little one!" she whispered.

And so, indeed, it would seem. The boy, revived by a spoonful or two of
broth, asked to have the two tame mice on the bed. Peter, opening the
cage, found one dead, very stiff and stark. The catastrophe he kept from
the boy.

"One is sick, Jimmy boy," he said, and placed the mate, forlorn and
shivering, on the pillow. After a minute:--

"If the sick one dies will it go to heaven?"

"Yes, honey, I think so."

The boy was silent for a time. Thinking was easier than speech. His mind
too worked slowly. It was after a pause, while he lay there with closed
eyes, that Peter saw two tears slip from under his long lashes. Peter
bent over and wiped them away, a great ache in his heart.

"What is it, dear?"

"I'm afraid--it's going to die!"

"Would that be so terrible, Jimmy boy?" ask