“If you ask any more silly questions you’ll go to bed, young man; but if you’re a good boy, I’ll tell you a story.” “A real story? A nice long story?” asked Michael. “I’ll tell you a story about Jack o’ my Nory And now my story’s begun. I’ll tell you another about Jack and his brother And now my story’s done.” Nurse twiddled her thumbs with a complacent look, as she smacked her palate upon the final line. “That isn’t a story,” said Michael sullenly. “When will mother be back?” “In June. That’s enough,” said Nurse. Michael went to sleep that night, trying to materialize this mysterious June. It came to mean a distant warmth of orange light towards which he waited very slowly. He lay awake thinking of June in the luminousness of a night-light shielded from his direct vision by a basin. His hands were muffled in fingerless gloves to prevent thumb-sucking. Suddenly upon the quiet came a blaze of light. Had he reached June? His sleepy eyelids uncurled to the scented vision of his beautiful mother. But it was only gaslight playing and fluttering over the figure of anæmic Annie taking hairpin after hairpin from her hair. Yet there was a certain interest in watching Annie undress. Her actions were less familiar than those of Nurse. Her lips were softer to kiss. Then the vision of June, rising and falling with Annie’s breath, recurred from distances unattainable, faded again into the blackness of the night, and after a while came back dazzling and golden. It was morning, and in a chirping of sparrows and depth of quiet sunlight Michael began to wonder why he was sleeping beside Annie in a big bed. It was an experience that stood for a long time in his memory as the first adventure of his life.