orget, but either way
That, and the child's unheeded dream
Is all the light of all their day."

The Grants were sitting at breakfast in their small, red-walled
dining-room. Richard, commonly called Dick, at the end of the table,
Mabel at the one side and Mrs. Grant in the seat of honour at the top.
Wherever Mrs. Grant sat was the seat of honour; she was that kind of old
lady. Marvellously handsome still, despite her age, with a commanding
presence and a nature which had sublime contempt for everyone and
everything except herself, she sailed through life exacting service from
all and obedience from her children. Why they obeyed her they could not
have themselves explained; perhaps it was an inheritance from the dead
Mr. Grant, who had worshipped his wife as if she had been some divinity.
In her own way Mrs. Grant had always been gracious and kindly to her
husband, but he had been altogether a nonentity in her life. Before the
children were old enough to see why, they realized that Daddy was only
the man who made the money in their house. Mother spent it, buying the
luxuries with which they were surrounded, the magnificent toys which
they disregarded, as is the way of children, the splendidly expensive
clothes, which were a perfect burden to them. Then, just when Dick was
beginning to understand, Mr. Grant died.

* * * * *

He had sent for his son--Dick was about eighteen then--and spoken to him
just before the end came.

"You will have to look after your mother, Dick," he had said, clutching
at the young, strong hands; "she has always been looked after. She has
never had to rough things in her life. And you won't be any too well
off. Promise me, promise me, you will always give her of your best."

"Of course, I promise, Dad," he had answered.

Further conversation between then had ceased because Mrs. Grant swept
into the room, regal even in the face of death. Dick remembered the
incident afterwards with a little twitch of his lips because it was so
typical of his mother and it was just at this period that he had begun
to criticize her. The sick-room had been in shadowed gloom until her
entry; the lights hurt the fast-failing eyes.

"I cannot sit in the dark," stated Mrs. Grant, as she settled herself,
with a delightful rustle of silk and a wave of perfume, beside the bed.
"You know that, Harry. It always has depressed me, hasn't it?"

"Turn up the lights, Dick," whispered the