He did not know it was prayer; it was just a cry: "Do something--oh, _do_ something! _Do you hear me?_ She tried so hard to save Jacky. Make her get well!" So it was that, in his selfless cry for happiness for Eleanor, Maurice found all those differing realizations--Joy, and Law, and Life, and Love--and lo! they were one--a personality! God. In his frantic words he established a relationship with _Him_--not It, any longer! "Please, please make her get well," he begged, humbly. At that moment, at the door of the dining room, appeared an immaculate Jacky in his new suit, his face shining with bliss and soap. He came and stood beside Maurice, waiting his monarch's orders, and listening, without comprehension, to the conversation: "Nothing will be said to him that will ... give anything away. She just wants to see him. His presence in the room--" Jacky gave a little leap. "Did you say _presents_!" "--his merely being there will please her. She loves him, Lily. You see, she's always wanted children, and--we've never had any." Jacky's mother said, in a muffled voice, "My land!" Then she caught Jacky in her arms and kissed him all over his face. "Aw, stop," said Jacky, greatly embarrassed; to have Mr. Curtis see him being kissed, "like a kid!" was a cruel mortification. "Aw, let up," said Jacky. When he and Mr. Curtis started in to town his eyes seemed to grow bluer, and his face more beaming, and his voice, asking endless questions, more joyous every minute. In the car he shoved up very close to Maurice, and tried to think of something wonderful to tell him. By and by, breathing loudly, he achieved: "Say, Mr. Curtis, our ash sifter got broke." Then he shoved a little closer. Just before they reached Mrs. Newbolt's house the haggard, unhappy father gave his son orders: "There is a lady who wants to see you, Jacky. She's my wife. Mrs. Curtis. You are to be very polite to her, and kiss her--" "Kiss a lady!" "Yes. You'll do what I tell you! Understand?" "Yes, sir," Jacky said, sniffling. "You are to tell her you love her; but you are not to speak unless you are spoken to. Do you get on to that?" "Yes, sir. No, sir," poor Jacky said, dejectedly. It was Edith who, watching for Maurice from the parlor window, opened the front door to him. She looked up into his eyes, then down into Jacky's, who, at that moment, took the opportunity, sighing, to obey orders; be reached up and gave a little peck at Edith's cheek. "I love you," he said, gloomily. "I done it," he told Maurice. "_He_ said I got to," he explained to Edith, resignedly, as she, startled but pleased, took his little rough hand in hers. Just as she did so Mrs. Newbolt, coming downstairs, saw him and stopped short in the middle of a sentence--the relationship between the man and the child was unmistakable. When she got her breath she said, coldly: "There's a change, Maurice. Better go right upstairs." He went, hurriedly, leading his little boy by the hand.