uncle
(her husband) in the terrible Clayton Tunnel accident, and I may here
add that what hurt her sensitive feelings almost more than his loss was
the fact that the gay young fellow had taken a girl on the sly with him
to Brighton for the day, and you know it was on the return journey that
the collision occurred. Well, her grief and thoughts of his conduct,
she said, made her so nervous and low spirited that she begged my Mamma
to allow little Harry, as she called me, to go and stay with her for a
time as companion. Every morning she would come into my bedroom to
awaken me with a loving kiss, pulling off the bed-clothes, and playing
me all sorts of tricks to make me get up. On one occasion, feeling
unusually tired, I begged she would let me lay only a few minutes
longer, as I drew her beautiful face down to my lips and smothered her
with kisses. I was almost uncovered at the moment, it was a bright May
morning, and the glorious sun was flooding the apartment with his beams
of light and warmth. "My darling boy," she said softly, "I have a
slight headache, and will rest on the bed by your side a little while,"
throwing her arms around me, and nestling her soft cheeks against mine.
I soon felt her hands wandering over every part of my body, but it was
so nice that when I felt her touch my naked thigh, I felt a curious
kind of alloverishness, and my little prick stood as stiff as a poker.
At last she touched even that. My eyes were apparently closed,
pretending to be in a doze, but I could see the blush that came into
her cheeks, and felt her give a kind of shudder all over. She caressed
my little cocky for a moment or two, which gave me a kind of longing
for her to go on. I could see she was greatly agitated, but my own
sense of pleasure prevented me thinking much about that. My heart
seemed to go out to her in a gush of love, as I suddenly opened my
eyes, and throwing my arms around her neck once more, kissed her again
and again.

How her eyes sparkled, and she seemed to blush deeper than ever, but
her soft hand never let go of the little treasure she had secured.

"Harry, my dear boy, is your little affair often like this? It is quite
unnaturally hard," she asked me in a low, husky kind of whisper.
"Perhaps you are ill, my dear, let me see," saying which she threw back
the bed-clothes, and examined my privates, handling my stiff pintle
very tenderly, as if she really thought there might be something the
matter with me