“I’ve come to take care of you, dearest,” he would say, with his indescribable protecting and comforting air. “I’ll sit by you and make you go to sleep.” And somehow there seemed to emanate from his childish softness a sort of soothing which could not have been put into words. It was his special province to put me to sleep when I was restless. He assumed it as a sacred duty, and had the utmost confidence in his power to do it. “I’ll put you to sleep,” he would say. “I will just sit by you and hold your hand and make you quiet.” How long had he sat by me on that one night which I shall always remember? I do not know. But he had been so quiet, and had sat holding my hand so long, that I could not find it in my heart to let him know that the charm had not worked and that I was not really asleep. I pretended that I was, lying very still, and breathing with soft regularity. He stayed quite a long time after I knew he thought I was quiet for the night, he was so determined to be quite sure that nothing would disturb me. At last he began with the most cautious softness to take his hand away. When he had been a baby I had sometimes laid him down to sleep with just such cautious movement. How gradually and softly the small fingers released themselves one by one, how slowly, with what infinite precaution of slowness, the warm, kind little palm was detached from mine. Then there was a mysterious, careful movement, and I knew he was leaving his chair. I dared not open my eyes for fear he would see me, and be heartbroken because I was awake. What was he doing? There were no footsteps, and yet he was moving a little—a very little, it seemed. And the movement was so slow, and interrupted by such pauses, that the length of time it lasted added to my curiousness. What idea had he been inspired by? Whatsoever he was doing he was putting his entire soul into, and he should not be crushed by the thought that it was all in vain. When I could hear that he had reached the door I opened an eye very cautiously. The opening of the door was as clever and quiet as the mysterious movement. It was opened only a little, there was more careful movement, and then it was drawn to. But though I had been looking directly at the slip of light I had not seen him. Somehow he had passed through without coming within my line of vision. I lay mystified. The incomprehensibleness of it gave me something to think about. His room was near my own, and I knew that he went to it and got into bed. I knew, also, that he would be asleep as soon as his curly head touched the pillow. He had been asleep perhaps an hour when his brother came in. He had been spending the evening at the house of a friend. He was usually a tender and thoughtful thing himself, but this night the excitement of festivity had intoxicated him and made him forgetful. He came up the staircase and ran into the bedroom with a childish rush.