"Ah, no doubt I should have done something; you're right there. But tell me what it's all about? Whatever will mummy say about it! And what do you suppose your little angel-sister thinks of you if she is looking at you now?"

The thought of the "little angel-sister" did not distress him much; but at the mention of "mummy" his grief broke out afresh.

"But you won't tell her, will you? And you'll mend my jacket for me, won't you?" taking his arms down from her neck to show the ugly rent by the pocket.

"Not tell mummy? Keep anything from mummy? Why, Jack, what can you be thinking about? She would not like her boy to have any trouble she did not share. And if you have done wrong all that she will do will be to give you advice that might help you another time."

"I know, I know," and the voice was a little fretful, an unusual thing for Jack, "but you don't understand: it's because it would make mummy cry I don't want her to know."

"Well, tell me all about it, and then I shall understand."

"And you won't tell her?"

Nanna felt to be in a difficulty, and had to think. Jack saw the difficulty she was in, and, like the chivalrous little fellow he was, helped her out of it by saying, "I'll tell you first, and then I know you'll say she mustn't know, and Janie must not know," getting down from her knee and shutting the door--"n.o.body must know."

Resuming his seat, and with one arm round her neck, he told out his little tale of woe, the tale that was so big to him. A fresh boy had come to his school whose displeasure he had won by obstinately keeping at the top of the cla.s.s, a position keenly coveted by the new boy, whose name was Frank Bell.

Knowing of no other invective he could hurl at his rival, Frank tried this one: "You're no good; you've no business among respectable boys.

Your mother's a wicked woman, and that's why your father can't live with her. My ma says so; I heard her."

"I told him she was as good as good could be, better than his mother, for my mother held meetings and his mother didn't. So he said he'd pay me out for calling his mother names, and after school he hit me in the face, and I hit him back."

"And you got the worst of it?"

"He's ever so much bigger than I am. My mother is good, isn't she?"

lifting up his tear-stained face to look steadfastly at Nanna. There was no doubt in the loyal little heart of the mother's goodness, but there was one big mystery in his life he could not solve, and he wondered if Nanna could help him--or, would help him.

"Of course she is good; we both of us know that."

"If only daddy would come home! If he would, then Frank couldn't say anything." He watched her face attentively--the face that had always had truth written on it, that had never kept a secret from him.

"I wish he would, too; but I don't know why he doesn't, and mummy doesn't know either. Perhaps--but you must not speak of this--perhaps he is dead. Sometimes we think he must be."

"Poor daddy!" murmured the child, and then turned to look at his photo hanging over the mantelpiece.

"But, Jack, dear, I want to show you where you have done wrong and how you must be wiser another time. It does not matter what any number of boys say about your mother; it could not alter the fact of her goodness.

You need only have said he was making a mistake. Then you should not have questioned his mother's goodness; it is quite right for him to think his mother better than yours--every boy should think his mother the best that ever was. And then, when he struck you, you should not have struck back--that's what cowards do, heroes quietly walk away. You remember what our dear Jesus said, that when anybody strikes us on one cheek, we are to let them do it on the other side, too, if they like."

Jack sighed. Life to him just then was indeed an "unsunned s.p.a.ce," and it seemed getting darker. It was bad enough to have had his dear mummy so wickedly spoken about, but to be struck and not retaliate! And now Nanna was disappointed in him. There came another deep sigh.

"Don't sigh, little man. It is by these mistakes we learn. You will be wiser next time, so cheer up. Let us ask Jesus to forgive us all our mistakes. We can afford to forget all about them then."

In the most natural way possible the two knelt down and made their request of the invisible Master, whose presence in that room was always acknowledged. It was by no means the first time these two had done so.

Jack was not at all surprised or confused.

Prayer over, Nanna set about preparing tea, and Jack, still disconsolate, sat by the fire. His own share of the pain was forgotten, but he could not feel happy about his "mummy." He did not want her to know, and yet he longed to hear from her own dear lips that she did not mind.

"You won't tell mummy, will you?" he pleaded before going to bed, and the promise was given. "Not till you say I may," said wise, far-seeing Nanna. The burden of having a secret from mummy was a heavy one, and Nanna felt sure it would not be long before it all came out, and that the loving little heart would only find peace in the mother's arms.

Phebe that night went in as usual to give Jack his "good-night" kiss. He had cried himself to sleep. He had even laughed at supper-time, and forgotten all his sorrow, but in the darkness of the bedroom it had come back again with full force.

The mother bent to kiss her boy--the face was damp--Jack had been crying! Nanna had said nothing about any trouble, yet she was always Jack's confidante. What could it be? She bent again to kiss him. Yes, it was quite damp--the pillow even was damp. Her sunny-faced, earnest, eager-hearted Jack, crying! The boy sighed in his sleep, tossed about, and then, the light of the lamp falling on his face, he woke up.

"Oh, mummy! dear mummy!" The lamp was quickly put down, and in an instant the two were locked in each other's arms.

"Jack, darling, you've been crying. You must tell me all about it."

"But I can't--no--you are not to ask me."

And then straightway he told her, though not in words. He smoothed her face, he examined her, then he hugged her, and whispered:

"It is my _good_ mummy!"

"Has somebody been telling you I'm not good?"

"Did Nanna tell you?" he exclaimed. "Oh, dear, she promised she wouldn't!"

"No, darling; Nanna did not tell me. She would not break her promise to you."

"Then how did you know?"

She could hardly explain. "I guessed it," she said. "I saw you had been crying. Who was it that was finding fault with me?"

"Frank Bell; he's a new scholar." The name was not familiar.

"See here, darling, you must never trouble about me. You know I do things differently from some mothers, and they think it is wrong, but I think it is G.o.d's wish; so it does not much matter. You understand?"

"Yes." Then, after a pause: "And it has not anything to do with daddy not coming home?"

There is a sisterhood of Mary found the wide world over--women who have felt the sword pierce the soul, and in that instant Phebe felt afresh what membership with that sisterhood meant. But her child, at all costs, must not know of it.

"No, nothing at all," was her calm answer.

And then came the story of the fight and the torn jacket. It was so nice to be able to tell her everything, and to know she was not hurt at all.

"What, my Jack been in a battle!" trying hard to laugh.

"Yes; but Nanna has mended my jacket, you'd never know it was torn, and I'm never going to fight again. Nanna says heroes walk away, and that must be so, 'cause it's harder."

"Nanna's right, you dear little champion!"

"When I am a man, n.o.body will dare to say you're not good."

"Yes, they will, dear. You know Jesus told us to beware if everybody spoke well of us. That would show we were not quite brave enough."

But the child spoke truer than she knew.

The next morning Phebe sent Frank Bell a box of chocolate, which Jack willingly delivered.