He went, with a pretence of slowness, and then rushed, to make up.  He entered her bedroom from his own, the door being open.  She was still kneeling before a trunk, and he stood close to her, quite still.

She knelt up straight, and said: 

“Well, Jon?”

“I thought I’d just come and see.”

Having given and received another hug, he mounted the window-seat, and tucking his legs up under him watched her unpack.  He derived a pleasure from the operation such as he had not yet known, partly because she was taking out things which looked suspicious, and partly because he liked to look at her.  She moved differently from anybody else, especially from Bella; she was certainly the refinedest-looking person he had ever seen.  She finished the trunk at last, and knelt down in front of him.

“Have you missed us, Jon?”

Little Jon nodded, and having thus admitted his feelings, continued to nod.

“But you had ‘Auntie’ June?”

“Oh! she had a man with a cough.”

His mother’s face changed, and looked almost angry.  He added hastily: 

“He was a poor man, Mum; he coughed awfully; I—­I liked him.”

His mother put her hands behind his waist.

“You like everybody, Jon?”

Little Jon considered.

“Up to a point,” he said:  “Auntie June took me to church one Sunday.”

“To church?  Oh!”

“She wanted to see how it would affect me.”  “And did it?”

“Yes.  I came over all funny, so she took me home again very quick.  I wasn’t sick after all.  I went to bed and had hot brandy and water, and read The Boys of Beechwood.  It was scrumptious.”

His mother bit her lip.

“When was that?”

“Oh! about—­a long time ago—­I wanted her to take me again, but she wouldn’t.  You and Daddy never go to church, do you?”

“No, we don’t.”

“Why don’t you?”

His mother smiled.

“Well, dear, we both of us went when we were little.  Perhaps we went when we were too little.”

“I see,” said little Jon, “it’s dangerous.”

“You shall judge for yourself about all those things as you grow up.”

Little Jon replied in a calculating manner: 

“I don’t want to grow up, much.  I don’t want to go to school.”  A sudden overwhelming desire to say something more, to say what he really felt, turned him red.  “I—­I want to stay with you, and be your lover, Mum.”

Then with an instinct to improve the situation, he added quickly “I don’t want to go to bed to-night, either.  I’m simply tired of going to bed, every night.”

“Have you had any more nightmares?”

“Only about one.  May I leave the door open into your room to-night, Mum?”

“Yes, just a little.”  Little Jon heaved a sigh of satisfaction.

“What did you see in Glensofantrim?”