"What have you done with my Mummy?" he asked. "Have you carried her away and put her somewhere like you do Fay when she's naughty? You're strong enough." "Oh, Tony!" Jan whispered piteously. "I would have kept her if I could, but I wasn't strong enough for that." "Who has taken her, then?" Tony persisted. "Where is she? I've been everywhere, and she isn't in the bungalow." "God has taken her, Tony." "What for?" "I think," Jan said, timidly, "it was because she was very tired and ill and unhappy----" "But is she happier now and better?" "I hope so, I believe she is ... quite happy and well." "You're sure?" And Tony's eyes searched Jan's face. "You're sure _you_ haven't put her somewhere?" "Tony, I want Mummy every bit as much as you do. Be a little good to me, sonny, for I'm dreadfully sad." Jan held out her hand and Tony took it doubtfully. She drew him nearer. "Try to be good to me, Tony, and love me a little ... it's all so hard." "I'll be good," he said, gravely, "because I promised Mummy ... but I can't love you yet--because--" here Tony sighed deeply, "I don't seem to feel like it." "Never mind," said Jan, lifting him on to her knee. "Never mind. I'll love you an extra lot to make up." "And Fay?" he asked. "And Fay--we must both love Fay more than ever now." "I do love Fay," Tony said, "because I'm used to her. She's been here a long time...." Suddenly his mouth went down at the corners and he leant against Jan's shoulder to hide his face. "I do want Mummy so," he whispered, as the slow, difficult tears welled over and fell. "I like so much to look at her." * * * * * It was early afternoon, the hot part of the day. The children were asleep and Jan sat on the big sofa, finishing a warm jersey for little Fay to wear towards the end of the voyage. Peter, by means of every scrap of interest he possessed, had managed to secure her a three-berth cabin in a mail boat due to leave within the next fortnight. He insisted that she must take Ayah, who was more than eager to go, and that Ayah could easily get a passage back almost directly with people he knew who were coming out soon after Jan got home. He had written to them, and they would write to meet the boat at Aden. There was nothing Peter did not seem able to arrange. In the flat below a lady was singing the "Indian Love Lyrics" from the "Garden of Khama." She had a powerful voice and sang with considerable passion. Less than the dust beneath thy chariot wheel, Less than the rust that never stained thy sword. Jan frowned and fidgeted.