THE HAPPY-DAY
"Lived" (Lived, it said!) "June, 1860—December, 1880"? All the other windows said "Died" on them. Why should your Father marry again?
In your Dear Father's arms you gasped, "Going to be married?" and your two eyes must have popped right out of your head, for your Father stooped down very suddenly and kissed them hard—whack, whack, back into place.
"N—o, not going to be married," he corrected, "but going to be married—again."
He spoke as though there were a great difference; but it was man-talk and you did not understand it.
Then he gathered you into the big, dark chair and pushed you way out on his knees and scrunched your cheeks in his hands and ate your face all up with his big eyes. When he spoke at last, his voice was way down deep like a bass drum.
"Little Boy Jack," he said, "you must never, never, never forget your Dear Mother!"
His words and the bir-r-r of them shook you like a leaf.
"But what was my Dear Mother like?" you whimpered. You had never seen your Mother.
Then your Father jumped up and walked hard on the creaky floor. When he turned round again, his eyes were all wet and shiny like a brown stained—glass window.
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