"Please, mother, I can't sleep. I have got a sort of up-and-down and round-and-round feeling. I don't know what it is, but it's worse when I put my head on my pillow. I 'spect I'm lonesome, mother. Mother, I really, truly, am going to be sensible, and I know all about father; but may I get into your bed just at the other side. I will lie as still as a mouse; may I, mother?" "Oh dear, how you tremble," said Mrs. Ogilvie; "how more than annoying this is! You certainly are not a sensible child at the present moment. If you felt so strange and nervous, why didn't you ask Nurse or Miss Winstead to sleep in the room with you?" "But, mother, that wouldn't have done me any good." "What do you mean?" "They wouldn't be you. I'll be quite happy if I can get into bed alongside of you, mother." "Of course you may, child, but please don't disturb me. I am very tired, and want to sleep." Sibyl ran round to the other side of the bed, slipped in, and lay as quiet as a mouse. Mrs. Ogilvie curled up comfortably, arranged her pillows, and closed her eyes. She was very sleepy, but what was the matter with her? She could not lose herself in unconsciousness. Was the perfectly still little figure by her side exercising some queer power over her, drawing something not often stirred within her heart to the surface? She turned at last and looked at the child. Sibyl was lying on her back with her eyes wide open. "Why don't you shut your eyes and go to sleep?" asked her mother. "I can't, on account of the round-and-roundness feeling," replied Sibyl. "What a funny little thing you are. Here, give me your hand." Mrs. Ogilvie stretched out her own warm hand and took one of Sibyl's. Sibyl's little hand was cold. "May I come quite close to you, mother?" asked Sibyl. "Yes, darling." The next instant she was lying in her mother's arms. Her mother clasped her close to her breast and kissed her many times. "Oh, now that's better," said the child with a sob. It was the first attempt at a sob which had come from her lips. She nestled cosily within her mother's clasp. "I am much better," she said; "I didn't understand, but I understand now. I got his letter." "Must we talk about it to-night, Sibyl?" asked her mother. "Not much; there's not much to say, is there? He said I was to be good and to obey you. I was to be good all the time. It's very hard, but I 'spect I'll do it; I 'spect Lord Jesus will help me. Mother, why has father gone to Queensland? It's such a long, long way off." "For a most excellent reason," said Mrs. Ogilvie. "You really are showing a great deal of sense, Sibyl. I never knew you more sensible about anything. I was afraid you would cry and make scenes and be naughty, and make yourself quite ill; that would have been a most silly, affected sort of thing to do. Your father has gone away just on a visit--we will call it that. He will be back before the summer is over, and when he comes back he will bring us----"