ld have to work. We are very poor. You see, dear, it
takes a great deal of money to buy new clothes for you. And, then,
dear, you see----"

He waited--somewhat disturbed by the sudden failure of her voice. It
was all becoming bitter to her, now; she found it hard to continue.

"You see," she gasped, "you eat--quite a bit."

"I'll not eat much," he promised. "And I'll not want new clothes. And
it won't take long for the curate to teach me how to work."

She would not agree.

"Tell me!" he commanded.

"Yes," she said; "but the curate says he wants you to live with him."

"Would you come, too?"

"No," she answered.

He did not yet comprehend. "Would I go--alone?"

"Yes."

"All alone?"

"Alone!"

Quiet fell upon all the world--in the twilighted room, in the tenement,
in the falling night without, where no breeze moved. The child sought
to get closer within his mother's arms, nearer to her bosom--then
stirred no more. The lights were flashing into life on the
river--wandering aimlessly: but yet drifting to the sea.... Some one
stumbled past the door--grumbling maudlin wrath.

"There is no other way," the mother said.

There was no response--a shiver, subsiding at once: no more than that.

"And I would go to see you--quite often."

She tried to see his face; but it was hid against her.

"It would be better," she whispered, "for you."

"Oh, mother," he sobbed, sitting back in her lap, "what would you do
without me?"

It was a crucial question--so appealing in unselfish love, so vividly
portraying her impending desolation, that for an instant her resolution
departed. What would she do without him? God knew! But she commanded
herself.

"I would not have to work," she said.

He turned her face to the light--looked deep in her eyes, searching for
the truth. She met his glance without wavering. Then, discerning the
effect, deliberately, when his eyes were alight with filial love and
concern, at the moment when the sacrifice was most clear and most
poignant, she lied.

"I would be happier," she said, "without you."

A moan escaped him.

"Will you go with the curate?" she asked.

"Yes."

He fell back upon her bosom....

There was no delay. 'Twas all done in haste. The night came. Gently
the curate took the child from her arms.

"Good-bye," she said.

"I said I would not cry, mother," he faltered. "I am not crying."

"Good-bye, dear."

"Mother, I am not crying."

"You