“There they are Mother—­sky-blossoms!” David called out.  He clapped his hands gayly; he was greatly excited.  “They have fallen down out of heaven, and you have caught some of them.”

Mother said not a word.  She seized David in her arms.  Her eyes were wide open; they were as bright as the raindrops, and she was breathing ever so fast.

“This letter,” she said, “this letter, little boy, is for you.  Listen, David, only listen....  No; let us wait until we get home before we read our letters.”

When, presently, they were safely back in the House of Happiness, this is what Mother read to her little boy on her lap:—­

“’To Mr. David Eastman.

“’ESTEEMED SIR:—­If you are in need of a father, I would like the job.  Will you please file my application?  And will you please ask your mother if you may have me?  Ask her, David, if I may not live at your house.  Tell her, David—­tell her, my little boy, that I will be a good husband to her, and love her always.’”

The child took the written page from Mother’s hand and looked at it knowingly.

“I have a letter too,” she said, but she could scarcely speak; she was trembling so, and it seemed ever so hard for her to breathe.

But indeed and indeed, hers was not a letter to be proud of.  It glowered; it smelled like a drug shop; it told her plainly that Duck Town was no business of hers; it told her to stay at home, to mind her own affairs and to go on being a good mother to her little boy.  But one sentence, the one at the end, was quite different.

“Tell me,” it said, “for I need very much to know; tell me whether David has not put my picture into your heart.”

The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS
U.S.A.

* * * * *