"His Mother died when he was born," said the Lady.

"Very sad indeed," said our Uncle Peter.

"d.i.c.ky is six years old," said the Lady. "I married his Father a year and a half ago. His Father was killed in an accident a year ago--"

"Oh dear--Oh dear," said our Uncle Peter.

The Lady began all over again as though it was a lesson.

"d.i.c.ky is six years old," she said. "I married his Father a year and a half ago. He was killed in an accident a year ago. It was all so sudden,--the marriage,--the accident,--everything--!" She began to cry a little. It made her clothes look sorrowfuller and sorrowfuller and her face more and more surprised. Once again she curled up her white pond-lily hands at our Uncle Peter. It was as though she thought that our Uncle Peter could help her perhaps with some of her surprises.

"I--I didn't know his Father very long," she cried. "I never knew his Mother at all!----It's--It's pretty bewildering," she said, "to be left all alone--for life--with a perfectly, strange little boy--who isn't any relation at all!--All his funny little suits to worry about--and his mumps and his measles--and--and whether he ought to play marbles 'for keeps'--and shall I send him to college or not? And suppose he turns out a burglar or something dreadful like that?--And how in the world am I going to tackle his first love affair? Or his choice of a profession?--Merciful Heavens!--Perhaps he'll want to fly!"

"Why--you're just like a Hen," said our Uncle Peter.

The Lady didn't like to be called a Hen.

It ruffled her all up.

Our Uncle Peter had to talk about Base Ball to soothe her.

The Lady didn't know anything about Base Ball but it seemed to soothe her considerably to hear about it.

When our Uncle Peter was all through soothing her she looked up as pleasant as pleasant could be.

"WHY?" she said.

"Why--what?" said our Uncle Peter. He seemed a little perplexed.

"Why--am I like a Hen?" said the Lady.

"O--h," said our Uncle Peter. He acted very much relieved. "O--h," he said. "I was afraid it was something you were going to ask me about Base Ball. But a Hen----?" He looked with smiles at the Lady. "Oh but a Hen--?--Why even a Hen, my dear Madam," he smiled, "a real professional true-enough hen doesn't take any too easily to the actual chick itself until she's served a certain sit-tightly, go-lightly, egg-sh.e.l.l sort of apprenticeship as it were to the IDEA.--Thrust a bunch of chicks under her before she's served this apprenticeship and----"

I jumped up and down and clapped my hands. I just couldn't help it.

"Oh, I know what happens!" I cried. "She sits too heavy! And squashes 'em perfectly flat!--There was a hen," I cried. "Her name was Lizzie!

She was a good hen! But childless! The Grocer gave us some day-old chicks to put under her! But when we went out to the nest the next morning to see 'em--they couldn't have been flatter if they'd been pressed in the Bible!--My Brother Carol cried,--I cried,--my Mother----"

"I don't care at all who cried," said the Lady. It was true. She didn't.

All she cared was to look at our Uncle Peter. The look was a stern look.

"And are you trying to imply, Mr.--Mr.--?"

"Merredith," said our Uncle Peter. "Percival Merredith.--'Uncle Peter'

for short."

"Mr. Merredith," repeated the Lady coldly. "Are you trying to imply that my----step-son looks as though he had been pressed in a--a--Bible?"

I shook in my boots. Carol shook in his boots. You could hear us.

Our Uncle Peter never shook a bit. He just twinkled.

"Well--hardly," he said.

The Lady looked pretty surprised. When she wasn't looking surprised she looked thoughtful.

Her voice sounded little when she got it started again.

"Maybe--Maybe I DO take my responsibilities too heavily," she said. "But it's this--this sleeping business that worries me so."

"I should think it would," said our Uncle Peter.

"No Nurse Maid will stay with me," said the Lady. "They say it gives them the creeps.--It's enough to give anyone the creeps.--A grown person of course expects a certain amount of wakefulness, but a child,--a little care-free--heedless child--? Just when you think you've got him safely to sleep--all cuddled up in your own bed or even in his own bed--and are just drowsing off into the first real sleep you've had for a week--?--Patter--Patter--Patter in the hall! Creak--Creak--Creak on the stairs! A chair b.u.mped over in the Library!--b.u.mped over on purpose you understand! Just to make a noise! 'Noises are his friends,'

he says. Why once--once--" The Lady's mouth smiled a little. "Once when I woke and missed him and hunted everywhere--I found him at last in the Pantry--on the floor--with his ear cuddled close up to a mouse-hole!

Mouse-Nibble Noises he says are his special friends in the middle of the night when there isn't anything else.--ANYTHING to break the silence it seems to be!--Why in the world should he be afraid of a Silence? n.o.body can account for it!"

"Possibly not," said our Uncle Peter. "Yet the fact remains that either within or just outside the borders of his consciousness the only two people responsible for his Being have disappeared unaccountably into a Silence----from which they have not returned."

"Oh dear," said the Lady. "I never thought of that! You mean--You mean--that perhaps he thinks that a Silence is a Hole that you might fall into if you don't fill it up with a Noise? Why the poor little fellow!--How in the world is one ever to tell?--Oh dear--Oh dear----"

She sank back in her chair and floated her hands in her lap. Her eyes looked as though she was going to cry again. But she didn't cry. That is, not much. Mostly she just sighed. "It isn't as though he was an easy child to understand," she sighed. "He catches cold so easily, and mumps and everything.--And he's so irritable.--He kicks,--he bites,--he scratches!"

"So I have seen demonstrated," said our Uncle Peter.

"Oh, it's quite evident," cried the Lady, "that you think I'm harsh with him!--But whatever in the world would YOU do?" She threw out her hands toward the pretty room,--the rugs,--the pictures,--the fire,--the toys.

"Perhaps you can tell me what he NEEDS?" she said.

"A good spanking," said our Uncle Peter.

The Lady gave a little gasp.

"Oh, not for punishment," said our Uncle Peter. "But just for exercise.--It's the only exercise that a lot of pampered, sedentary children ever get!"

"P--Pampered?" gasped the Lady. "S--Sed--entary?" As though her head was bursting with the noises all around the room she clapped her hands over her ears.

Our Uncle Peter jumped up from his chair and began to chase the little tin railroad train. It looked funny to see so large a man running after so small a train. When he caught it it was having a railroad accident in the tunnel under the table where a book had fallen on the track. Like a beetle with no paint on its stomach he left it lying on its back with its little wheels kicking in the air.

"If only all the racket was as easily disposed of!" said the Lady.

"It IS!" said our Uncle Peter.

Like turning off faucets of water he turned off the noises one by one,--the window-breeze that made the gla.s.s dangles tinkle,--the funny jiggly spring that kept the toy bird screaming "Hi-Hi" in its wicker cake,--the music box that tooted horns and beat drums right in the middle of its best tunes! He looked like a giant stalking through the Noah's Ark animals! His foot was longer than the village store!

"If only I figured as largely in a less miniature world!" he said.

He looked at the Lady very hard when he said it as though he was saying something very important.

The Lady didn't seem to consider it important at all. She looked at her skirts instead and smoothed them very tidily.

"It's a--It's a pleasant day--isn't it?" said our Uncle Peter.