Willy cried. He
ate very little breakfast. He stood at the window in a listless attitude
of discouraged misery, which she said cut her to the heart. Once in a
while he would ask for some plaything which he did not usually have. She
gave him whatever he asked for; but he could not play. She kept up an
appearance of being busy with her sewing, but she was far more unhappy
than Willy.
Dinner was brought up to them. Willy said, "Mamma, this ain't a bit good
dinner."
She replied, "Yes, it is, darling; just as good as we ever have. It is
only because we are eating it alone. And poor papa is sad, too, taking
his all alone downstairs."
At this Willy burst out into an hysterical fit of crying and sobbing.
"I shall never see my papa again in this world."
Then his mother broke down, too, and cried as hard as he did; but she
said, "Oh! yes, you will, dear. I think you will say that letter before
tea-time, and we will have a nice evening downstairs together."
"I can't say it. I try all the time, and I can't say it; and, if you keep
me here till I die, I shan't ever say it.
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