ever known in his life with Henri and Brossard. Night after night he had
comforted himself with the picture that it brought before him.

He could see a little white house in the middle of a big lawn. There
were vines on the porches, and it must have been early in the evening,
for the fireflies were beginning to twinkle over the lawn. And the grass
had just been cut, for the air was sweet with the smell of it. A woman,
standing on the steps under the vines, was calling "Jules, Jules, it is
time to come in, little son!"

But Jules, in his white dress and shoulder-knots of blue ribbon, was
toddling across the lawn after a firefly.

Then she began to call him another way. Jules had a vague idea that it
was a part of some game that they sometimes played together. It sounded
like a song, and the words were not like any that he had ever heard
since he came to live with Henri and Brossard. He could not forget them,
though, for had they not sung themselves through that beautiful dream
every time he had it?

"Little Boy Blue, oh, where are you?
O, where are you-u-u-u?"

He only laughed in the dream picture and ran on after the firefly. Then
a man came running after him, and, catching him, tossed him up
laughingly, and carried him to the house on his shoulder.

Somebody held a glass of cool, creamy milk for him to drink, and by and
by he was in a little white night-gown in the woman's lap. His head was
nestled against her shoulder, and he could feel her soft lips touching