_worse_ times; perhaps this had been a
worse time. Whatever had been the reason that prompted him, he had
with disquieting suddenness, before Sheelah could prevent it, flung
his arms about the pretty mother and made audible objection to her
going.

"Why, Murray!" She had been taken by surprise. "Why, you little
silly! I'm coming back to-night; I'm only going for the day! You
wouldn't see much more of me if I stayed at home." Which, from its
very reasonableness, had quieted him. Of course he would not see much
more of her. As suddenly as he had wailed he stopped wailing. Yet she
had promised. Something had sent her back to the nursery door to do
it.

"Be a good boy and I'll come home before you go to bed! I'll _put_
you to bed," she had promised. "We'll have a regular lark!"

Hence he was out here on the door-step being a good boy. That Sheelah
had taken unfair advantage of the Promise and made the being good
rather a perilous undertaking, he did not appreciate. He only knew he
must walk a narrow path across a long, lonely day.

There were certain things--one especial certain thing--he wanted to
know, but instinct warned him not to interrupt Sheelah till her work
was done, or she might call it not being good. So he waited, and
while he waited he found out the special thing. An unexpected
providence sent enlightenment his way, to sit down beside him on the
door-step. Its other name was Daisy.

"Hullo, Murray! Is it you?" Daisy, being of the right sex, asked
needless questions sometimes.

"Yes," answered Murray, politely.

"Well, le's play. I can stay half a hour. Le's tag."

"I can't play," rejoined Murray, caution restraining his natural
desires. "I'm being good."

[Illustration: I can't play ... I'm being good]

"Oh, my!" shrilled the girl child derisively. "Can't you be good
tagging? Come on."

"No; because you might--_I_ might get no-fairing, and then Sheelah'd
come out and say I was bad. Le's sit here and talk; it's safer to.
What's a lark, Daisy? I was going to ask Sheelah."

"A--lark? Why, it's a bird, of course!"

"I don't mean the bird kind, but the kind you have when your mother
puts you--when something splendid happens. That kind, I mean."

Daisy pondered. Her acquaintance with larks was limited, unless it
meant--

"Do you mean a good time?" she asked. "We have larks over to my house
when we go to bed--"

"That's it! That's the kind!" shouted delighted Murray. "I'm going to
have one when