"But, my dear boy, you must not say that your mother is not good. You have no reason to say so, and it is a terrible thing to say." "She was unkind to father--and to me, too," Julian burst forth. "And she struck you; she is wicked and unkind, and I don't love her. And Suzanne said she would make me wicked, too, and that I was just like her; and I don't want--to--be--wicked." "Nobody can make you wicked if you are certain that you want to be good," said Janetta, gravely; "and it was very wrong of Suzanne to say anything that could make you think evil of your mother." "Isn't she naughty, then?" Julian asked in a bewildered tone. "I do not know," Janetta answered, very seriously. "Only God knows that. We cannot tell. It is the last thing we ought say." "But--but--you call me naughty sometimes?" the child said, fixing a pair of innocent, inquiring eyes upon her. "Ah, but, my dear, I do not love you the less," said Janetta, out of the fullness of her heart, and she took him in her arms and kissed him. "You are more like what I always think a mother ought to be," said Julian. What stabs children inflict on us sometimes by their artless words! Janetta shuddered a little as he spoke. "Then ought I to love her, whether she is good or bad?" Janetta paused. She was very anxious to say only what was right. "Yes, my darling," she said at last. "Love her always, through everything. She is your mother, and she has a right to your love." And then, in simple words, she talked to him about right and wrong, about love and duty and life, until, with brimming eyes, he flung his arms about her, and said---- "Yes, I understand now. And I will love her and take care of her always, because God sent me to her to do that." And he objected no more to the daily visit to his mother's room. The sick woman's restless eyes, sharpened by illness, soon discerned the change in his demeanor. "You've been talking to that boy about me," she said one day to Janetta, in a quick, sensitive voice. "Nothing that would hurt you," Janetta replied, smiling. "Oh, indeed, I'm not so sure of that. He used to run away from me, and now he sits beside me like a lamb. I know what you've been saying." "What?" said Janetta. "You've been saying that I'm going to die, and that he won't be bothered with me long. Eh?" "No; nothing of that kind." "What did you say, then?" "I told him," said Janetta, slowly, "that God sent him to you as a little baby to be a help and comfort to you; and that it was a son's duty to protect and sustain his mother, as she had once protected and sustained him." "And you think he understood that sort of nonsense?" "You see for yourself whether he does or not," said Janetta, gently. "He likes to come and see you and sit beside you now." Mrs. Wyvis Brand was silent for a minute or two. A tear gathered in each of her defiant black eyes, but she did not allow either of them to fall.