to
generate a feeling of firm stability. Even the slightly stale air--there
probably hadn't been a wide open window since the storm sashes were
installed last autumn--provided a locked-in feeling that conversely meant
that the world was locked out.

Grandfather brought in the glass of warmed milk and a plate of cookies.
He sat down and asked, "What happened, Jimmy?"

"My mother and father are--"

"You eat your cookies and drink your milk," ordered his grandmother. "We
know. That Mr. Brennan sent us a telegram."

* * * * *

It was slightly more than twenty-four hours since Jimmy Holden had blown
out the five proud candles on his birthday cake and begun to open his
fine presents. Now it all came back with a rush, and when it came back,
nothing could stop it.

Jimmy never knew how very like a little boy of five he sounded that
night. His speech was clear enough, but his troubled mind was too full
to take the time to form his headlong thoughts into proper sentences.
He could not pause to collect his thoughts into any chronology, so it
came out going back and forth all in a single line, punctuated only by
necessary pauses for the intake of breath. He was close to tears before
he was halfway through, and by the time he came to the end he stopped in
a sob and broke out crying.

His grandfather said, "Jimmy, aren't you exaggerating? Mr. Brennan isn't
that sort of a man."

"He is too!" exploded Jimmy through his tears. "I saw him!"

"But--"

"Donald, this is no time to start cross-examining a child." She crossed
the room and lifted him onto her lap; she stroked his head and held his
cheek against her shoulder. His open crying subsided into deep sobs; from
somewhere she found a handkerchief and made him blow his nose--once,
twice, and then a deep thrice. "Get me a warm washcloth," she told her
husband, and with it she wiped away his tears. The warmth soothed Jimmy
more.

"Now," she said firmly, "before we go into this any more we'll have a
good night's sleep."

The featherbed was soft and cozy. Like protecting mother-wings, it folded
Jimmy into its bosom, and the warm softness drew out of Jimmy whatever
remained of his stamina. Tonight he slept of weariness and exhaustion,
not of the sedation given last night. Here he felt at home, and it was
good.

And as tomorrows always had, tomorrow would take care of itself.

Jimmy Holden's father and mother first met over an operating table,