ll be broken-hearted, but he'll feel close to you, then you'll
know what it means to have a son!"

Often Sally wanted to fly at him, beat with her fists on his chest. But
she never did.

_You can't warm a stone by slapping it, Sally. You'd only bruise
yourself. A stone is neither cruel nor tender. You've married a man of
stone, Sally._

He hasn't missed a day at the office in eight years. She'd never visited
the office but he was always there to answer when she phoned. "I'm very
busy, Sally. What did you say? You've bought a new hat? I'm sure it will
look well on you, Sally. What did you say? Tommy got into a fight with a
new boy in the neighborhood? You must take better care of him, Sally."

There are patterns in every marriage. When once the mold has set, a few
strange behavior patterns must be accepted as a matter of course.

"I'll drop in at the office tomorrow, darling!" Sally had promised right
after the breakfast pattern had become firmly established. The desire to
see where her husband worked had been from the start a strong, bright
flame in her. But he asked her to wait a while before visiting his
office.

A strong will can dampen the brightest flame, and when months passed and
he kept saying 'no,' Sally found herself agreeing with her husband's
suggestion that the visit be put off indefinitely.

Snuff a candle and it stays snuffed. A marriage pattern once established
requires a very special kind of re-kindling. Sally's husband refused to
supply the needed spark.

Whenever Sally had an impulse to turn her steps in the direction of the
office a voice deep in her mind seemed to whisper: "No sense in it,
Sally. Stay away. He's been mean and spiteful about it all these years.
Don't give in to him now by going."

Besides, Tommy took up so much of her time. A growing boy was always a
problem and Tommy seemed to have a special gift for getting into things
because he was so active. And he went through his clothes, wore out his
shoes almost faster than she could replace them.

Right now Tommy was playing in the yard. Sally's eyes came to a focus
upon him, crouching by a hole in the fence which kindly old Mrs.
Wallingford had erected as a protection against the prying
inquisitiveness of an eight-year-old determined to make life miserable
for her.

A thrice-widowed neighbor of seventy without a spiteful hair in her head
could put up with a boy who rollicked and yelled perhaps. But peep-hole
spying was anothe