to be extravagant once. And she told me, still smiling, that the
more a woman was given to stitching and making things for herself,
the greater was her passionate desire now and again to rush to the
shops and 'be foolish.' The christening robe with its pathetic
frills is over half a century old now, and has begun to droop a
little, like a daisy whose time is past; but it is as fondly kept
together as ever: I saw it in use again only the other day.

My mother lay in bed with the christening robe beside her, and I
peeped in many times at the door and then went to the stair and sat
on it and sobbed. I know not if it was that first day, or many
days afterwards, that there came to me, my sister, the daughter my
mother loved the best; yes, more I am sure even than she loved me,
whose great glory she has been since I was six years old. This
sister, who was then passing out of her 'teens, came to me with a
very anxious face and wringing her hands, and she told me to go ben
to my mother and say to her that she still had another boy. I went
ben excitedly, but the room was dark, and when I heard the door
shut and no sound come from the bed I was afraid, and I stood
still. I suppose I was breathing hard, or perhaps I was crying,
for after a time I heard a listless voice that had never been
listless before say, 'Is that you?' I think the tone hurt me, for
I made no answer, and then the voice said more anxiously 'Is that
you?' again. I thought it was the dead boy she was speaking to,
and I said in a little lonely voice, 'No, it's no him, it's just
me.' Then I heard a cry, and my mother turned in bed, and though
it was dark I knew that she was holding out her arms.

After that I sat a great deal in her bed trying to make her forget
him, which was my crafty way of playing physician, and if I saw any