o to sleep now. Father'll sit here till you do."

"You won't let them come back?" asked the child, drawing long, shaken
breaths.

"No," he said quietly.

"You'll always be close, to take care of me?"

"Yes, dear."

"And of Muvver and 'Stashie?"

There was a pause.

Ariadne spoke in grieved astonishment. "Why, of _course_ of Muvver and
'Stashie, Favver."

Rankin took a sudden great breath. "I hope so, Ariadne."

"Well, you _can_ if you want to," the child gravely gave her assent.

She said no more for a time, clutching tightly to his hand. Then,
"Favver."

"Yes, dear."

"I fink I could go to sleep better if I had my bunny."

"Yes, dear," said the man patiently; "where is he?"

"I fink he's under ve chair where my clothes are--ve _big_ chair.
'Stashie lets me put my clothes on ve biggest chair."

The man fumbled about in the dark. Then, "Here's your bunny, Ariadne."

The child murmured something drowsily unintelligible. The man took his
seat again by the bed. There was a pause. The child's breathing grew
long and regular. The rain sounded loud in the silence.

In the distance a street-car rattled noisily by. Ariadne started up with
a scream: "Favver! Favver!"

"Right here, dear. Just the trolley-car."

"It 'minded me of ve mad ladies' voices," explained Ariadne
apologetically, breathing quickly. She added: "Vat was such a _nawful_
dream, Favver. I wonder could I have your watch to hear tick in my hand
to go me to sleep."

"Yes, dear; but only for to-night because of the bad dream."

There were little nestling noises, gradually quieting down. Then,
sleepily:

"Favver, please."

"Yes, dear."

"I fink I could go _all_ to sleep if you'd pit your head down on my
pillow next my bunny."

A stir in the darkness, and an instant's quiet, followed by, "Why,
Favver, what makes your face all over water?"

There was no answer.

"And your beard is as wet as--" She broke off to explain to herself:
"Oh, it's rain, of tourse. I forgot it's raining. _Now_ I remember how
to _really_ go all to sleep. I did before. I listen to it going patter,
patter, patter, patter--" The little voice died away.

There was no sound at all in the room but the swift, light voice of the
watch calling out that Time, Time, Time can cure all, can cure all, can
cure all--and outside the brooding murmur of the rain.

A faint, clear gray began to show at the windows.

THE END

-----------------