"Now, pay strict attention, Kenneth. You must understand everything I say to you. Do you hear? Your father is never coming home. We told you he had gone to the war. We thought it was best to let you think so. It is time for you to know the truth. You are always asking questions about him. After this, when you want to know about your father, you must come to me. I will tell you. Do not bother your grandma. You make her unhappy when you ask questions. You see, your Ma was once her little girl and mine. She used to be as little as you are. Your Pa was her husband. You know what a husband is, don't you?" "Yes, sir," said Kenneth, wide-eyed. "It's a boy's father." "You are nearly six years old. Quite a man, my lad." He paused to look searchingly into the child's face, his bushy eyebrows meeting in a frown. "The devil of it is," he burst out, "you are the living image of your father. You are going to grow up to look like him." He groaned audibly, spat viciously over his shoulder, and went on in a strange, hard voice. "Do you know what it is to steal? It means taking something that belongs to somebody else." "Yes, sir. 'Thou shalt not steal.' It's in the Bible." "Well, you know that Indians and gipsies steal little boys, don't you? It is the very worst kind of stealing, because it breaks the boy's mother's heart. It sometimes kills them. Now, suppose that somebody stole a husband. A husband is a boy's father, as you say. Your father was a husband. He was your dear mother's husband. You loved your mother very, very much, didn't you? Don't cry, lad,--there, there, now! Be a little man. Now, listen. Somebody stole your mother's husband. She loved him better than anything in the world. She loved him, I guess, even better than she loved you, Kenneth. She just couldn't live without him. Do you see? That is why she died and went away. She is in Heaven now. Now, let me hear you say this after me: My mother died because somebody stole her husband away from her." "'My mother died because somebody stoled her husband away from her,'" repeated the boy, slowly. "You will never forget that, will you?" "No,--sir." "Say this: My mother's heart was broken and so she died." "'My mother's heart was broken and she--and so she died.'" "You will never forget that either, will you, Kenneth?" "No, sir." "Now, I am going to tell you who stole your mother's husband away from her. You know who your mother's husband was, don't you?" "Yes, sir. My Pa." "One night,--the night before you came up here to live--your Auntie Rachel,--that is what you called her, isn't it? Well, she was not your real aunt. She was your neighbour,--just as Mr. Collins over there is my neighbour,--and she was your mother's friend. Well, that night she stole your Pa from your Ma, and took him away with her,--far, far away, and she never let him come back again. She took him away in the night, away from your mother and you forever and forever. She---"