Parson Dan found more pleasure in watching this joy-thrilled
lad than in the tiny eggs which were exhibited for his benefit.
This was an almost daily occurrence through the summer. Then at night,
when tired with his day's rambles, Rodney would rest his head upon the
soft pillow while Mrs. Royal read him to sleep. Stories he loved, and
never wearied of them. One by one the books were brought from the Room
of Sacred Memories until the boy knew them all.
"Did you read all of those books when you were little, Grandma?" Rodney
once asked.
"Not when I was little, dear," was the quiet reply. "But I read them
to a little boy, though, who was as fond of them then as you are now."
"Whose little boy was he, Grandma?"
"He was my little boy, Rodney."
"Was he? Isn't that funny? I didn't know that. What was his name?"
"It was Alec."
"And where is he now?"
"He grew to be a big man, and one day he went away from home, and--and
I never saw him again."
"What are you crying for, Grandma?" the boy, asked, suddenly noticing
that tears were streaming down Mrs. Royal's cheeks.
"I was thinking of my boy Alec, dear. He went away and never came
back."
"Why didn't he?"
"Because he was killed.
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