“OH, Nick! ” called Mrs. Ford.

“ Yes, mother,” answered a somewhat reluctant voice from the hall.

“ Do come and hold this wool for me, like a dear boy.”

“ But, my dear mother, I have just time to keep an engagement.” Nicholas appeared in the doorway, very much dressed up, very self-conscious and dignified. “ I promised to call for Miss Arthur at four o’clock. She’s going to walk with me, ” he added, drawing on new gloves with a man-about-town air, a heavy stick under one arm.

“ How did it come about? ” asked Mrs. Ford, properly impressed.

“ Oh, I simply asked her, and she said she would be charmed to.” Then the small boy came to the surface in a delighted giggle. “ What ’s the matter with Willie ? ” he demanded, swaggering. His mother laughed.

“What are you going to talk to her about? ” she asked.

“ Why, whatever the lady chooses; ” he suddenly became dignified again. “ Books, theatre, art, music, — she can’t stump me. Would you wear these? ” He pulled forward a buttonhole bursting with lilies of the valley and studied it anxiously. “They say flowers in your buttonhole are bad form now, but I do like ’em. What would you do? ”

“Wear them,” said Mrs. Ford. “ And then, if there is a good chance, you can give them to her. You have enough there for a corsage bouquet.”

“ Great eye,” commented Nick, “ I ’ll do it. Au revoir, Mrs. Ford.” At the door he paused, hesitating. “ Say, do you suppose I ’ll bore her to death? ” he broke out. “ I know I ’m only a foolish boy. Won’t she be wishing me in Jericho? ”

“ No, of course not,” exclaimed his mother. “ Go on, dear, and don’t think about yourself. She told me you interested her very much.”

Nicholas was beaming and confident again.

“ All right, then. Here goes! ” And he swung out, chest high and head up, young life cavorting perilously under manly dignity. Mrs. Ford leaned back in her chair with eyes full of laughter. At a mental picture of the lady in the case it suddenly brimmed over. Well, if Miss Arthur found it amusing, she was more than satisfied.

Nicholas came home radiant, with empty buttonhole.

“ Now that’s what I call a lady,” he confided to his mother. “ You ought to have seen her, — all velvet and fur and bully white gloves. She didn’t just wear any old thing because she was going out with me. I tell you, we were a couple! ”

“ And how did you get on? ” asked Mrs. Ford, deeply interested.

“ Well, the first ten minutes, it was pretty bad,” he admitted. “ Some way, she was so handsome, and so — grown up, you know, I wanted to excuse myself for living, and I just fell over my feet, right and left. I could n’t even talk straight, — felt as though I had a mouth full of cold blotting paper. But she did n’t notice a thing, and talked along as if we walked up Fifth Avenue, every day of our lives; and so I got on to myself, and after that it was lovely. She ’s great.”

“ And you gave her your flowers? ” Mrs. Ford was longing to know more, but could not question him too closely.

“ Did I! You ought to have seen me. She said something about them, and I said I had just worn them in the hope she ’d notice, so that I could have an excuse to offer them. How was that for a kid ? ” And Nick’s chuckle would have assured the most anxious mother that in spite of his manly stature she had not yet lost her small boy. “ I wish I dared ask her to go to the theatre with me, ” he went on. “ Do you think she would? I suppose we ’d have to have a chaperon.”

Mrs. Ford, taken unawares, let a sudden laugh escape. Her son was indignant.

“ Oh, I know she ’s ten years older than I am! But she doesn’t look it, does she? And isn’t a chaperon just for looks, anyway? ” he demanded.

“ Yes, dear. You are perfectly right; ” Mrs. Ford hastily recovered her gravity. “ And I like it that you are punctilious about women.”

“Well, of course,” said Nick, mollified.

The theatre suggestion was not followed up, but Miss Arthur let Nick take her to a service at the cathedral a few days later, and then she asked him to help her rearrange her library. His devotion grew with the weeks, and all the time that could be spared from his studies (and possibly some that could not) went to making her a Christinas offering, — an ingenious little wooden chest for jewels. He talked of her till only his mother would stand him. She met Miss Arthur on the street one day, and both women laughed as they shook hands.

“ I am afraid my big boy is boring you to death,” Mrs. Ford began.

“ Indeed he is not. He is the nicest boy I ever knew, ” said Miss Arthur. “ I enjoy him immensely.”

“ Well, you hare utterly won his heart; and you are the very first.” Mrs. Ford sighed a little. “ You will never find any truer devotion. A boy’s love can be so angelic — once in his life! ” she added.

“ I hope — I should hate ” — Miss Arthur hesitated. Mrs. Ford put out her hand.

“ You are making him immensely happy, and doing him good. Only don’t let him bore you.”

“ Oh, he never does that.”

The first day of the Christmas holidays Nick was allowed to go skating with his lady. For twenty-four hours afterwards he was like a jovial tornado in the little apartment. His mother, wearied with his noise and her own laughter, was thankful to see him go forth the following afternoon in the punctilious array that had only one meaning.

“ Here is two hours of quiet, anyway, ” she said, smiling after him. “If the lady will only keep him to dinner! ”

But in less than an hour he was back, a very different Nick, silent, moody, with a look of tragic anger in his eyes that made his mother ache for him. He offered no explanation, and for the first time evaded a chance to talk of Miss Arthur. Indeed, he would not talk on any subject, but sat through a long evening with his eyes held sternly on a book, whose leaves were not turned. Mrs. Ford at last made an excuse to cross the room, that she might gently rub his hair in passing.

“ Well, dear boy ? ” she said. “ Can’t you tell me about it ? ” He lifted his eyebrows in polite surprise.

“ Why, there is nothing to tell, ” he said. “ Some one else — a fellow named Courtney — came to call on Miss Arthur, so I didn’t stay. That’s all. She asked me to come again to-morrow evening, but I don’t know whether I shall or not. ”

Mrs. Ford sat down by the fire and waited. Presently Nick threw aside his book and jerked himself to his feet.

“ I don’t see how men like that get into nice houses, ” he burst out. “ Mother, you know what kind of a woman she is — why, you want to take your shoes off when you go into the same house with her. She’s the sort of woman you ’d expect a queen to be — all lady, inside and out. And that man sat up there in her drawing-room and smoked ! ”

Mrs. Ford would have strangled rather than laughed ; but she attempted a faint defense.

“ But, dearie, perhaps she has known him a long time. You know we like to have some people smoke here. ” Nick brushed aside the argument as not worth attention.

“ And then I did n’t like a story the fellow told,” he went on, with an outraged shake of his head. “ I don’t mean it was shady ; it would have been all right in most places. But to tell that kind of a thing before her ! Would n’t you think a stable boy would know better ? Of course she had to laugh, — she ’s so kind, — but I could see she didn’t like it. I felt I ’d punch the fellow if I stayed another minute, so I got out. And if he ’s going to be there,

I’ll stay out. Good-night.” And he marched off to his own room.

Only a mother, and perhaps not all mothers, could have endured Nicholas the next twenty-four hours. Late in the afternoon, a little worn but still perfectly sympathetic, Mrs. Ford dragged him out for a walk, and the boy, bewildered and angry at his own soreheartedness, followed sulkily where she led. He would not seem to notice when they passed Miss Arthur’s house.

“ Suppose we run in and see her for a moment,” suggested Mrs. Ford in a sudden-bright-idea tone. “ I really owe her a call.”

“ Oh, I don’t believe I care to,” was the grand reply.

“ Of course — you are invited for the evening. I had forgotten that,” she amended cheerfully. “ Is it to be ” —

But Nick was not listening. A cab had just passed, and the street lamp showed a young woman in velvet and furs inside. Mrs. Ford glanced back in time to see a man alight, then turn and offer his hand to the young woman. The pavement was slippery with ice, and she went up the steps with her hand still on his arm. Mrs. Ford instinctively knew that this must be the fellow named Courtney.

“ Shall we go home now? ” she said. “ A fire will feel good.”

“ You go. I ’ll walk a little more.” And Nick trudged off into the early winter darkness with his neck sunk into his coat collar and his hat pulled far over his eyes.

When he came home, late for dinner, there was a note waiting for him. He took it up with a sudden light in his face that died out as he read.

“ It’s just a note from Miss Arthur to say she can’t see me to-night: she has a bad headache, ” he explained carelessly. “ She says she will write me to-morrow and make another date. Dinner ready? ”

Pride had set in, and any one but a mother would have welcomed the change. Nick’s whole soul was bent on showing that he had never been gayer in his life, and Mrs. Ford saw only what he wanted her to, patiently biding her time. He was formal with her these days, and he kissed her goodnight with such an effort that she contrived to let him avoid what had never before been a ceremony, knowing how wholly he would come back to her when his bruised and bleeding self could bear the light again. The postman came seven times a day, and seven times a day Nick slipped out and trudged down the two long flights to watch for him; and each time his mother felt her heart thump in sympathy till a glance at his face told her hope was over for this hour, and the promised note had not come. When, hunting in the dark corner of a store closet, she came across the unfinished jewel chest, thrust down behind a box, she could have cried.

It was a dreary week, and at the end of it Mrs. Ford drew up to the little coal fire in the early dark to make some stern resolutions. But instead she found herself listening to the soft fall of the snow against the windows and wondering where Nick was. His quick step in the hall foretold news, and she turned eagerly as he burst into the room, snowy, breathless, all his pose and self-consciousness swept away by some overwhelming feeling.

“ Oh, mother, mother ! ” He flung himself down beside her and buried his face on her shoulder. “ She’s ill — dreadfully, terribly ill — she ’s been ill all these days, and I ’ve never even been to ask about her. She ’s getting worse and worse, and they don’t know whether she’ll — and I ’ve been sulking around thinking about myself, and never even sent her a message! Think of her ” — His breath came in quick gasps, and she felt his arms tremble.

“ How did you find it out, dear ? ”

Nick did not answer for some moments. Then with a long sigh he drew away from her and settled down at her feet, his face turned to the fire.

“Why, I walked by the house — I happened to — and there was a little card over the bell, saying please not ring because of serious illness. So I asked at the basement. She had most fainted that day, at a tea, and — some one had brought her home in a cab. And sick as that, she bothered to send me a note, so that I shouldn’t come round that night — think of it! And I never went near her. And now it’s — too — la— ”

His mother waited awhile, then she told him about various wonderful recoveries she had known. It was not long before she had him cheerful with new hope. After dinner she heard him whistling softly in his own room, and, glancing in, saw him surrounded by his tools, working busily at the little jewel chest.

The morning news of Miss Arthur was encouraging. Nick worked all day on the chest, and at dark, when it was finished, went buoyantly off for a last bulletin. His heavy step when he came back prepared his mother for his tragic face. Miss Arthur was very much worse. The doctor would be there on and off all night. By midnight they would probably know.

It was Christmas Eve, and the two were promised for a small party. Nick would not go, but was so vehemently opposed to his mother’s staying away that she finally went without him. But she could see nothing all the evening but the boy up there alone with his first grown trouble, and finally she slipped away. It was barely eleven when she let herself in, and, after a glance at the empty sitting-room, stole to his door. He was not there, and his overcoat was gone from the hall.

She got together materials for a little supper and placed the gas stove ready to light, then sat down to wait. An hour later bells and whistles announced Christmas Day, and fell away into silence again. At half-past twelve she could stand it no longer. Putting on her wraps, she went down the street, uncannily still now, and muffled in fresh snow. Only a few blocks lay between her and Miss Arthur’s house, and she had no fear of the city at any hour. As she turned the last corner, she stopped short and drew back into the shadow. Across the street a lonely figure was pacing slowly along the block, pausing now and then to glance up at a house opposite. She knew him long before the street lamp showed her the boyish face, pale and set. Something in it kept her from speaking. She let him turn and go back. A wide path had been trodden in the snow on that side.

“ I have no small boy any more,” she thought sadly, and went home alone.

An hour later Nick came in, making clumsy attempts at noiselessness.

“ I’m up, Nick — in the diningroom,” called Mrs. Ford. He entered shining with good news.

“ Oh, mother, she’s better! She has passed the crisis, — they think she ’ll pull through! ”

“ I’m so glad, dear! How did you find out ? ” He looked a little confused.

“ Oh, I wasn’t sleepy, so I thought I might as well run round there and see the doctor as he left. I waited a few minutes for him, ” he explained. “ Have you been in long? ”

“ Oh, not so very; ” Mrs. Ford was stirring busily. “ I felt just like some chocolate. Will you have some? ”

“ You bet,” said Nick.

News from Miss Arthur continued better and better. Before she was taken out of town she was able to write with her own hand a little note of thanks for the jewel box and the lilies of the valley.

A few weeks after she had gone, Nick’s mother sighed to see a new phase of the affair develop. He showed a growing reserve on the subject of Miss Arthur, and her name was almost never mentioned now. The expansive boy was evidently become a man in the concerns of his heart, and his mother would not force his confidence, though she wondered incessantly what was going on back of this new secretiveness, and ached in sympathy for the ache she could only divine. All the boy’s spare time went to experiments in book binding, and she bore the endless litter without a murmur, suspecting some new offering to the lady as its ultimate object.

Then one day she came running up the stairs, her eyes shining with joy for his joy.

“ Oh, Nick, whom do you think I just saw ? ”

He was at a critical place in adjusting an end paper, and did not lift his head.

“ Dunno, ” he said, evidently without a suspicion.

“ Miss Arthur — looking so wrell and pretty! And she sent you her love.”

Nicholas did not spring to his feet. He did not even look up.

“ Good work,” he said cheerfully. “ I must go and see her some time. Mother, will you put your finger here for a moment? ”

Mrs. Ford stared at him blankly. There was no duplicity in his serene voice, no pose in the frowning attention the end paper was receiving. And all this time — She turned and went to her own room.

“ The little brute! ” she muttered. Then she smiled broadly. After all, it only meant that she still had a small boy.

Juliet Wilbor Tompkins.