time before you went away. I wouldn't tell you, for it was so wretched
to be frightened. I thought it might be a hare or a rabbit snared, and I
went in the morning and looked; but there was nothing. It was after you
went I heard it really first; and this is what he says." He raised
himself on his elbow close to me, and looked me in the face: "'Oh,
mother, let me in! oh, mother, let me in!'" As he said the words a mist
came over his face, the mouth quivered, the soft features all melted and
changed, and when he had ended these pitiful words, dissolved in a
shower of heavy tears.

Was it a hallucination? Was it the fever of the brain? Was it the
disordered fancy caused by great bodily weakness? How could I tell? I
thought it wisest to accept it as if it were all true.

"This is very touching, Roland," I said.

"Oh, if you had just heard it, father! I said to myself, if father heard
it he would do something; but mamma, you know, she's given over to
Simson, and that fellow's a doctor, and never thinks of anything but
clapping you into bed."

"We must not blame Simson for being a doctor, Roland."

"No, no," said my boy, with delightful toleration and indulgence; "oh,
no; that's the good of him; that's what he's for; I know that. But
you--you are different; you are just father; and you'll do
something--directly, papa, directly; this very night."

"Surely," I said. "No doubt it is some little lost child."