, but she cried and seemed as Annie, who was in charge, said
'to regular shudder.' Altogether Kindergarten was a pleasure to Michael,
and he found the days went by more quickly, though still far too slowly.

About a week before Christmas his mother came back, and Michael was
happy. All the rooms that were only used when she was at home changed
from bare beeswaxed deserts to places of perfect comfort, so rosy were
the lamp-shades, so sweet was the smell of flowers and so soft and
lovely were his mother's scattered belongings. Christmas Day brought
presents--a box of stone bricks, a rocking-horse, a doll's house for
Stella, boxes of soldiers, a wooden battleship, and books--Hans Andersen
and Grimm and the Old French Fairy-tales. As for the stockings that
year, it was amazing how much managed to get into one stocking and how
deliciously heavy it felt, as it was unhooked from the end of the cot
and plumped down upon the bed in the gaslight of Christmas morning.
There was only one sadness that hung over the festivities--the thought
that his mother would be going away in two days. Boxing Day arrived and
there were ominous open trunks and the scattered contents of drawers.
To-morrow she was going. It was dreadful to think of. Michael was
allowed the bitter joy of helping his mother to pack, and as he stood
seriously holding various articles preparatory to their entombment, he
talked of the summer and heard promises that mother would spend a long
long time with Michael.

"Mother," he said suddenly, "what is my father?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"The boys at Miss Marrow's all ask me that. Have I got a father? Must
boys have fathers? Oh, mother, do tell me," pleaded Michael.

Mrs. Fane seemed worried by this question.

"Your father was a gentleman," she said at last.

"What is a gentleman?"

"A good man, always thoughtful and considerate to others."

"Was that man in the photograph my father?"

"What photograph?" Mrs. Fane parried.

"By your bed at the seaside?"

"I don't remember," she said, "Anyway, your father's dead."

"Is he? Poor man!" said sympathetic Michael.

"And now run to Nanny and ask her if she remembers where mother put her
large muff."

"Nanny," said Michael, when he had received Nurse's information, "why
did my father die?"

"Die? Die? What questions. Tut-tut! Whatever next?" And Nurse blew very
violently to show how deeply she disapproved of Michael's
inquisitiveness.

That evening, just