Resuming his seat, and with one arm round her neck, he told out his little tale of woe, the tale that was so big to him. A fresh boy had come to his school whose displeasure he had won by obstinately keeping at the top of the class, a position keenly coveted by the new boy, whose name was Frank Bell. Knowing of no other invective he could hurl at his rival, Frank tried this one: "You're no good; you've no business among respectable boys. Your mother's a wicked woman, and that's why your father can't live with her. My ma says so; I heard her." "I told him she was as good as good could be, better than his mother, for my mother held meetings and his mother didn't. So he said he'd pay me out for calling his mother names, and after school he hit me in the face, and I hit him back." "And you got the worst of it?" "He's ever so much bigger than I am. My mother is good, isn't she?" lifting up his tear-stained face to look steadfastly at Nanna. There was no doubt in the loyal little heart of the mother's goodness, but there was one big mystery in his life he could not solve, and he wondered if Nanna could help him--or, would help him. "Of course she is good; we both of us know that." "If only daddy would come home! If he would, then Frank couldn't say anything." He watched her face attentively--the face that had always had truth written on it, that had never kept a secret from him. "I wish he would, too; but I don't know why he doesn't, and mummy doesn't know either. Perhaps--but you must not speak of this--perhaps he is dead. Sometimes we think he must be." "Poor daddy!" murmured the child, and then turned to look at his photo hanging over the mantelpiece. "But, Jack, dear, I want to show you where you have done wrong and how you must be wiser another time. It does not matter what any number of boys say about your mother; it could not alter the fact of her goodness. You need only have said he was making a mistake. Then you should not have questioned his mother's goodness; it is quite right for him to think his mother better than yours--every boy should think his mother the best that ever was. And then, when he struck you, you should not have struck back--that's what cowards do, heroes quietly walk away. You remember what our dear Jesus said, that when anybody strikes us on one cheek, we are to let them do it on the other side, too, if they like." Jack sighed. Life to him just then was indeed an "unsunned space," and it seemed getting darker. It was bad enough to have had his dear mummy so wickedly spoken about, but to be struck and not retaliate! And now Nanna was disappointed in him. There came another deep sigh. "Don't sigh, little man. It is by these mistakes we learn. You will be wiser next time, so cheer up. Let us ask Jesus to forgive us all our mistakes. We can afford to forget all about them then."