she looked sad. One of her arms moved as if it wanted to go round something, and he knew what it wanted to go round.
'O mother!' said Peter to himself, 'if you just knew who is sitting on the rail at the foot of the bed.'
Very gently he patted the little mound that her feet made, and he could see by her face that she liked it. He knew he had but to say ' Mother' ever so softly, and she woidd wake up. They always wake up at once if it is you that says their name. Then she would give such a joyous cry and squeeze him tight. How nice that would be to him, but oh! how exquisitely delicious it would be to her. That, I am afraid, is how Peter regarded it. In returning to his mother he never doubted that he was giving her the greatest treat a woman can have. Nothing can be more splendid, he thought, than to have a little boy of your own. How proud of him they are! and very right and proper, too. 70