“See, these are his toys,” she said. “He was just an ordinary boy. This is his stamp-book; this is the museum he made with things his grandfather gave him; these are his soldiers, and this is the boat he used to sail on the pond and on the river. These are his skates, and these are his books――I expect you have read most of them――_Huckleberry Finn_, _Twenty-thousand Leagues under the Sea_, _The Young Fur Traders_, _Nat the Naturalist_.... And this is his picture hanging on the wall.” Grif looked at the laughing, merry face, and as he did so something which had been coiled about his mind ever since the afternoon before his illness, seemed to drop away. It was as if a window had been opened into his soul, letting in the fresh clean air and the sunshine, letting in the song of the robin and the blue sky and the wind. He shuddered for a moment, as a kind of ecstasy of relief swept up through him. He gave a little sharp cry as he buried his face against Miss Nancy. “I know now――I know now,” he whispered. “It is all different.” The rapture of freedom, of happiness, seemed to beat upon his heart, and he sobbed with the joy of its healing, cleansing waves, which rushed over him and through him. He had turned very white, and Miss Nancy, leading him to the big rocking-chair by the window-seat, sat down there and drew him to her. He was so light that she scarcely felt his weight as she held him in her arms, held him closely, his dark head pillowed on her breast. The white face sank lower on her shoulder, and in a little while he became very quiet, so that she knew, looking down at his shut eyes, that he had fallen asleep. “He will get well now,” she whispered to herself. “He is well already.” And her lips moved in a silent prayer. “When he wakens up he will be happy. All this will have passed from him, and he will be well and strong.” Outside, the robin continued to sing, and a low, sweet, humming noise told her that Captain Narcissus had begun to cut the grass. The sound of the lawn-mower rose, monotonous and pleasant, a pleasant soothing music, which seemed to bring back the spirit of the dying summer. She sat on, listening to it, and thinking of the boy lying so quietly in her arms. At last the noise ceased, and she guessed that the Captain was coming indoors. Probably it was nearly lunch-time. “Shall we go downstairs?” Miss Nancy whispered, for Grif was sleeping now so lightly that she could not hear his breathing, could not even hear it when she bent her head till her lips touched his hair. But Grif slept on. THE END. _Printed by_ Butler & Tanner _Frome and London_ SELECTIONS FROM MR. EDWARD ARNOLD’S LIST OF NEW AND RECENT BOOKS