Why
are you crying?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, but you must know! I always know why I'm crying. I cry at nights
when it's all dark, and you can't hear anything. I cry then because
I want mummy. Mummy cries sometimes though, and she doesn't know
why."
"Do you ask her, then?"
"Yes; and she says she doesn't know. So I suppose ladies don't know
sometimes, but boys always do. But you won't say I cried, will you?
Promise!"
"I promise," she said firmly.
"Because the others 'ud think I was a baby if they knew, and I'm not
really a baby--not in the morning, am I?"
"No; not a bit."
"You wouldn't think I was a baby when you give me my music lesson,
would you?"
"No; I always think you're very brave."
He twisted about in the bed. "Put your other arm round my neck, will
you?--like mummy does. She always puts both arms--it's much warmer."
She clasped him with both arms.
"Ah; that's better," he said. "I hope mummy wouldn't mind, because
she said I wasn't to love any one else but her. But, of course, I
don't really love you, you know. I like you because you're warm."
"You don't love me, then?"
"No; how could I? I could only love mummy, really.
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