up from his manuscripts and welcomed her. The sheets, tossed
untidily about the table were mostly blank ones.

"Well, dear?" the little Mother said, with a question in her voice.

"Not at all;--_bad_," he answered, gloomily. "I haven't written a
word yet, Bess. At this rate, how soon will my new book be out? It's
so confoundedly still--"

"Yes, dear, I know," the Mother said, hastily. Then they both gazed
out of the window, and saw the Boy's little, rough-coated, ugly dog
moping under the Boy's best-beloved tree. The Boy had pleaded hard to
be allowed to take the dog on the journey. They both remembered that
now.

"He's lonesome," murmured the Mother, but she meant that they two
were. And they had thought it would be such a rest and relief! But
then, you remember, the Boy had never been away before, and he was
only ten.

So one day and one more after it dragged by. Two from seven leaves
five. The Mother secretly despaired. The second night, after the
others were asleep, she stole around the house and strewed the Boy's
things about in all the rooms; but she could not make them look at
ease. Nevertheless, she let them lie, and, oddly enough, no one
appeared to see them next morning. All the family made fine pretence
of being cheerful, and spoke often of the quietude and peace--how
restful it was; how they had known beforehand that it would be so,
without the whooping, whistling, tramping, slamming Boy.

"So relieving to the nerves," the Patient Aunt said.

"So soothing," murmured the Mother, sadly.

"So confoundedly nice and still!" the Father muttered in his beard.
"Haven't had such a chance to work for ten years." But he did not
work. The third day he said he must take a little run to the city
to--to see his publishers, you know. There were things that needed
looking after;--if the Mother would toss a few things into his grip,
he'd be off;--back in a few days, of course. And so he went. It was a
relief to the Mother, and a still further one when, on the fourth
day, the Patient Aunt went away on a little visit to--to some
friends.

"I'm glad they're gone," nodded the little Mother, decisively, "for I
couldn't have stood it another day--_not another day!_ Now _I'm_
going away myself. I suppose I should have gone anyway, but it's much
pleasanter not to have them know. They would both of them have
laughed. What do _they_ know about being a Mother and having your
little Boy away? Oh yes, they can laugh and be rel