“But then she wouldn’t have found the magic charm,” said Mrs. Heywood. “Don’t you see?... And she would have withered and withered away until there was nothing left of her, and the husband would have been quite alone--forever.” “Think so?” said Herbert very thoughtfully. “D’you think it would have been as bad as that?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Heywood. “I’m sure of it.” “Well, what did happen?” asked Herbert. “Did she find the magic charm? It wasn’t a widow in distress, was it? Or Social Reform humbug?” “No,” said Mrs. Heywood; “that gave her a new interest in life because it helped her to forget herself, some of her own little worries, some of her brooding thoughts. But a good fairy who was looking after her worked another kind of magic.... Herbert I It’s the best magic for unhappy women and unhappy homes, and it has been worked for you. Oh, my dear, you ought to be very thankful.” “Yes,” said Herbert, scratching his head. “Yes, I suppose so. But what’s the moral of the tale, mother? I’m hanged if I see.” Mrs. Heywood put her hand on her son’s shoulder, as he sat on the hassock by her chair. “It’s a moral told by an old woman who watched these two from the very beginning. A husband mustn’t expect his wife to stay at home for ever. The home isn’t big enough, Herbert. There’s the great world outside calling to her, calling, calling. The walls of a little fiat like this are too narrow for the spirit and heart. If he keeps her there she either pines and dies, or else----” “What?” asked Herbert. “Escapes, my dear,” said the old lady very solemnly. Herbert drew a deep, quivering breath. “Then,” said Mrs. Heywood, “nothing in the world can call her back--except----” “Except what?” “A little child.” Herbert got up from the hassock and clasped the mantelshelf, and spoke in a low, humble, grateful voice. “Thank God, Clare has been called back!” he said. Mrs. Heywood rose from her chair also, and caught hold of her son’s sleeve. “Yes,” she said, “yes. But even now she will want to spread her wings a little. She must take short flights, Herbert, even now. She must wing her way out to the big world at times. You will remember that, won’t you?” “I’ll try to remember,” said Herbert. He bent his head over his hands on the mantelshelf. “I’ve been selfish,” he said. “Blinded with selfishness and self-conceit. God forgive me.” “Perhaps we have all been a little selfish,” said Mrs. Heywood quietly. “But we shall have some one else to think about now. A new life, Herbert. A new life is coming to us all!” “Hush!” said Herbert. “Here’s Clare.” The mother and son stood listening to the voice of Clare singing in the hall. She was singing the old nursery rhyme of-- “Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket-full of rye, Four and twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie, When the pie was opened-----” Mrs. Heywood smiled into her son’s eyes.