Another long holy silence. The mulberry leaves were still. Then the Boy said, softly: "Some day, will you tell me heaps more--details--lots of little things about her? No one ever has. But I seem almost to begin to remember her, when you talk of her. Meanwhile, may I show you this?" He drew from the inner pocket of his coat, a small well-worn pocket-Bible. Opening it at the fly-leaf, he passed it to Miss Charteris. "It was hers," he said. She bent over it and read the inscription: _M. A. Chelsea_ "_Through faith and patience inherit the promises._" Below, in a delicate writing, traced by a hand that trembled: _To my Baby Boy from his Mother_ "_I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not._" She looked at it in silence. How much had this book meant during all these years, to the "Baby Boy"? Had the book in his pocket, and the prayers hovering about him, something to do with the fact that he was still--just Little Boy Blue? The Boy had taken a fountain pen from his pocket, and was shaking it vigorously over the grass. Now he passed it to her. "Write your dear name beneath," he said. Infinitely touched, she made no comment, raised no question. She took the pen, and wrote just "_Christobel_." * * * * * "_And the evening and the morning were the fourth day._" * * * * * THE FIFTH DAY GUY CHELSEA TAKES CONTROL "Now, Sir Boy," said Miss Charteris with decision, "this is your fifth day. Our time is nearly over. You have done most of the talking. You have had things entirely your own way. What? ... Oh, well, _almost_ entirely your own way. I have allowed you to play your Old Testament game to your heart's content. With commendable adaptability, _I_ have been Jericho, and _you_ have marched round. I have been Jericho in my own garden, and have refreshed the invading army with hot buttered-toast and explosive buns. Now it is my turn to take the initiative. Jenkins having removed the tea, and it being too hot for tennis, I am going to ask you to sit still, while I explain to you quite clearly why I must send you away at the close of the seventh day." She tried to hide her extreme trepidation beneath a tone of gay banter. She hoped it did not sound as forced to him as it did to herself. The Boy's clear eyes were fixed upon her. Had he noticed the trembling of her hands, before she steadied them by laying hold of the arms of her chair? "So now for a serious talk, if you please, Sir Boy." "Excuse me, dear," said the Boy, "the Israelites were not allowed to parley." "You need not parley," said Miss Charteris; "you are requested merely to listen. You may smoke if you like. I understand cigarette smoke is fatal to black-beetles. Possibly it has the same effect on garden insects. Russell tells me we are overrun by snails. Smoke, Boy, if you like."