She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she did not notice the unusual abstraction of the child. With one chubby fist grasping her forefinger and the other trailing, head downward, a big yellow chrysanthemum, he trudged silently by her side, his red fez making a spot of bright color against her white dress. He was wondering why he had no mamma. Many times he had talked the matter over with Marguerite, but she had never been able to explain it to his entire satisfaction. He accepted her statements when she made them, but as they did not seem to him to justify the fact, she had to make them all over again the next time he thought of the subject. That day he had visited a little playmate who had both a big sister and a mamma, and as he walked across the mesa with Marguerite his small brain was busy with the problem and his childish heart was full of longing. He lifted his serious, puzzled face, with its big, blue, childishly earnest eyes to his sister, who was as absorbed in her problem as was he in his. "Say, Daisy, why haven't I got a mamma, just like Janey?" "Darling, our mamma, yours and mine, has gone to Heaven." "What did she go there for?" "Because God wanted her to go there and live with Him." "Did God take her to Heaven?" "Yes, dear." "Well, it was awful mean for Him to do that." "Oh, my darling! My little Bye-Bye mustn't say such things! Everything God does is right. Poor mamma was so ill she could not stay with us any longer, and God took her to Heaven to make her well." "Is she ill in Heaven?" "No, dearie. She is well and happy in Heaven, and so is every one who goes there." "When I go to Heaven shall I see my mamma?" "Yes, dear." The child was silent for a few moments and Marguerite turned again to her own thoughts. She scarcely heard him when he spoke again: "Heaven is up in the sky, ain't it, Daisy?"