"Yes, sir. 'Thou shalt not steal.' It's in the Bible."

"Well, you know that Indians and gipsies steal little boys, don't
you? It is the very worst kind of stealing, because it breaks the
boy's mother's heart. It sometimes kills them. Now, suppose that
somebody stole a husband. A husband is a boy's father, as you say.
Your father was a husband. He was your dear mother's husband. You
loved your mother very, very much, didn't you? Don't cry, lad,--there,
there, now! Be a little man. Now, listen. Somebody stole your
mother's husband. She loved him better than anything in the world.
She loved him, I guess, even better than she loved you, Kenneth.
She just couldn't live without him. Do you see? That is why she
died and went away. She is in Heaven now. Now, let me hear you say
this after me: My mother died because somebody stole her husband
away from her."

"'My mother died because somebody stoled her husband away from
her,'" repeated the boy, slowly.

"You will never forget that, will you?"

"No,--sir."

"Say this: My mother's heart was broken and so she died."

"'My mother's heart was broken and she--and so she died.'"

"You will never forget that either, will you, Kenneth?"