the deep, sweet blue of the sky.

"What does my little boy see with his two big, shining eyes? And
what does my little boy hear?"

It was Mother's voice above him that was thus humbly asking
admission into the strange world he had found, and so well she
knew it was marvelous fine, this world of his, that she snuggled
his cheek against _her_ cheek, and tried and tried, in her poor,
grown-up way, to understand all the pretty things the great
silent tree was whispering to the clouds.

"Is it there?" she asked very softly and very earnestly. "Is it
down there that the clouds go to sleep?"

And they remained together, these two, side by side, thinking
about the sweet go-to-bed place of the clouds. A silence which
was new to them, a cool and reposeful silence, had come upon them
and held them. They were conversing in a language which has no
words. It was a melody in silver--the spirit of motherhood, the
soul of childhood blending into music, bringing them nearer,
deepening their love and making it more dear to them.

They understood each other, that woman and that little boy. They
did not move. David had taken hold of Mother's hand, and he held
to it while they kept on looking down there, afar off, where the
great silent tree was softly whispering to the summer clouds.