It had come about through his unprecedented wail of grief at parting, when she had gone into the nursery to say good-bye, in her light, sweet way. Perhaps it was because she was to be gone all day; perhaps he was a little lonelier than usual. He was always rather a lonely little boy, but there were _worse_ times; perhaps this had been a worse time. Whatever had been the reason that prompted him, he had with disquieting suddenness, before Sheelah could prevent it, flung his arms about the pretty mother and made audible objection to her going. "Why, Murray!" She had been taken by surprise. "Why, you little silly! I'm coming back to-night; I'm only going for the day! You wouldn't see much more of me if I stayed at home." Which, from its very reasonableness, had quieted him. Of course he would not see much more of her. As suddenly as he had wailed he stopped wailing. Yet she had promised. Something had sent her back to the nursery door to do it. "Be a good boy and I'll come home before you go to bed! I'll _put_ you to bed," she had promised. "We'll have a regular lark!" Hence he was out here on the door-step being a good boy. That Sheelah had taken unfair advantage of the Promise and made the being good rather a perilous undertaking, he did not appreciate. He only knew he must walk a narrow path across a long, lonely day. There were certain things--one especial certain thing--he wanted to know, but instinct warned him not to interrupt Sheelah till her work was done, or she might call it not being good. So he waited, and while he waited he found out the special thing. An unexpected providence sent enlightenment his way, to sit down beside him on the door-step. Its other name was Daisy. "Hullo, Murray! Is it you?" Daisy, being of the right sex, asked needless questions sometimes. "Yes," answered Murray, politely. "Well, le's play. I can stay half a hour. Le's tag." "I can't play," rejoined Murray, caution restraining his natural desires. "I'm being good." [Illustration: I can't play ... I'm being good] "Oh, my!" shrilled the girl child derisively. "Can't you be good tagging? Come on." "No; because you might--_I_ might get no-fairing, and then Sheelah'd come out and say I was bad. Le's sit here and talk; it's safer to. What's a lark, Daisy? I was going to ask Sheelah." "A--lark? Why, it's a bird, of course!" "I don't mean the bird kind, but the kind you have when your mother puts you--when something splendid happens. That kind, I mean." Daisy pondered. Her acquaintance with larks was limited, unless it meant-- "Do you mean a good time?" she asked. "We have larks over to my house when we go to bed--" "That's it! That's the kind!" shouted delighted Murray. "I'm going to have one when I go to bed. Do you have _reg'lar_ ones, Daisy?" with a secret little hope that she didn't. "_I'm_ going to have a reg'lar one."