Her father went on with his explaining, low and cheerily, and as confidentially as if to a grown-up.  Across from him, listening, was her mother, one soft cheek lowered to rest close to the small face half-hidden in the pillow.

When her father finished speaking, Gwendolyn gave a deep breath—­of happiness and content.  Then, “Moth-er!”

“Yes?”—­with a kiss as light as the touch of a butterfly.

Her eyelids, all at once, seemed curiously heavy.  She let them flutter down.  But a drowsy smile curved the pink mouth.  “Moth-er,” she whispered; “moth-er, the Dearest Pretend has come true!”