o say that in the bright light of the morning. But
it was a different matter at night. That very night again he wept.
She could hear his sobs stifled in the pillow. She was going to bed.
When the sound reached her ears, she stopped, listening. It _was_
crying! She opened her door gently. Certainly it was the sound of
crying! Then, half-undressed, not thinking to cover her shoulders,
she crept across the passage to his door, opened it and peered inside.

"Maurie," she whispered.

The crying stopped.

"Maurie," she repeated, "you are crying."

He admitted it--sadly; they had found him out. Now they would think
he was a baby. That was the inevitable accusation in the mind of these
people who were grown up--in the mind of every one, except his mother.

"But I'm not a baby!" he exclaimed.

Sally knelt down by the side of his bed. "Who said you were a baby?"
she whispered.

"You were just going to."

"No, I wasn't. I don't think you are a baby. I cry sometimes."

"Do you?" There was a thin note of amazement in his voice. "What do
you cry for?"

"Oh, lots of things. What do you?"

"For mummy--it's so cold in bed without mummy."

"Do you sleep with mummy, then?" she asked, and she slid a warm arm
around his sturdy little neck.

"Yes--always. Mummy's so warm and she lies so tight. Your arm's
warm--I like your arm." He felt it with his fingers. "What's that?"
he asked suddenly.

"What's what?" said Sally.

"Something wet fell on the back of my hand. Why, it's you--it's you.
You're crying. Aren't you? You're crying. Oh, I wonder if you're a
baby. I don't see why you should be, if you don't think I am. Why
are you crying?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, but you must know! I always know why I'm crying. I cry at nights
when it's all dark, and you can't hear anything. I cry then because
I want mummy. Mummy cries sometimes though, and she doesn't know
why."

"Do you ask her, then?"

"Yes; and she says she doesn't know. So I suppose ladies don't know
sometimes, but boys always do. But you won't say I cried, will you?
Promise!"

"I promise," she said firmly.

"Because the others 'ud think I was a baby if they knew, and I'm not
really a baby--not in the morning, am I?"

"No; not a bit."

"You wouldn't think I was a baby when you give me my music lesson,
would you?"

"No; I always think you're very brave."

He twisted about in the bed. "Put your other arm round my neck, will
you?--like mummy does. She always pu