deafened her. 'Mother, Mother,' it cried, 'I want you, Mother.'
'Come to me, come to me,' the voice was fading away.
'Mother, Mother.' She turned herself in the rocking boat.
'It is my son James,' she said, and lifting her head found herself alone. She opened her eyes and saw the heaving water a moment, and then more clearly the green carpet of her bedroom, and the red face of her son at the door.
'I am tired of calling you,' he said. 'And have you my coat done? You know I am on a rush to-night to go out for an appointment.'
She rose and passed her hand across her eyes.
'It's ready,' she said. 'I've sewn on all the buttons; you may take it at once.' She rose and followed him to the door. There she met John.
'Well, little mother,' he smiled, kissing her, 'and how have you been enjoying yourself to-day?'
'Now, I won't wait for a word of criticism,' said Deborah Hayden, as she rose and folded her
