Yes, it's him; only his soul isn't there. TEDDY. Do you believe it? Say, if that's true, how did his soul get out? ELSIE. I've thought of that. This is what I believe: When people die, God kisses them, and their soul comes right out of their lips to God's. TEDDY. I'll never play be dead with you, anymore. ELSIE. No, I don't want to, either. TEDDY. God might think I really was dead, and I might lose my soul. ELSIE. You can't make believe with God. TEDDY. That's so; I forgot. I say, Elsie, I'm never going to be wicked again in all my life. ELSIE. Nor I. TEDDY. Oh! girls never are wicked. I believe when we die Death comes along and pulls us by our feet; that's why our souls go out. They're afraid of Death. (_Elsie shudders, and nestles closer to her brother._) TEDDY. Don't be afraid; I won't let him catch you. ELSIE. Poor mama, she cries all the time. TEDDY. And she won't eat. ELSIE. I know where there are some little cakes. TEDDY. (_Eagerly._) Could you get them? ELSIE. Not alone. I'm afraid. TEDDY. I'll go with you. (_They get down out of the big chair._) Do we go to school the next day after it? ELSIE. Yes; and wear all black. (_Sobs._) Poor papa. TEDDY. (_Choking._) Don't cry. ELSIE. You're crying too. TEDDY. No, I ain't! (_Crying._) (_She kisses him. He is comforted, but very much ashamed._) ELSIE. Do you think we can go to the circus next week just the same? TEDDY. I don't care about circuses now. ELSIE. Neither do I. I don't want to go anyway. Let's find the cakes. TEDDY. And then we'll make a coach out of the chairs, and you'll drive me four in hand. [_They go out of the room smiling._ Maternity Three Letters and a Cable from Mrs. Stanton, a Widow I _To Robert N. Stanton, Esq., her son_ (_and only child_) Venice, Thursday. My Darling Boy: Your letter reached me a few moments ago. We were just starting off to see the Tintorettos in the Scuola, but I opened your envelope before I stepped into the gondola, and read enough in the first few lines to let the others go on without me. First, let me say this; no one in all the world wishes you more joy, more real happiness, than your mother. I wish it more than anything else in the world, and have prayed for it for you every night of my life since you first came into this world. And I've always counted a wife for you as one of the chief joys of your future. I have always wanted you to marry, only I have always said to myself--not yet; I can't spare him yet. Mothers begin their children's lives by being the most unselfish beings in the world; and then, as we grow older, I'm afraid we are inclined to go to the other extreme. I won't tell a falsehood and say I am glad you are going to be married now. Forgive me, dear, forgive me; but in my heart there is still the same cry--"Not yet! not yet!"