Part 6 (1/2)

”Dear,” she whispered, ”it was the Boy that died. I am glad he died.”

So, though the Ogre and the s.h.i.+ning Mother had not found their Boy, the Little Girl had found a father and mother.

Chapter VI

The Lie

The Lie went up to bed with him. Russy didn't want it to, but it crept in through the key-hole,--it must have been the key-hole, for the door was shut the minute Metta's skirt had whisked through. But one thing Russy had to be thankful for,--Metta didn't know it was there in the room. As far as that went, it was a kind-hearted Lie.

But after Metta went away,--after she had put out the light and said ”Pleasant dreams, Master Russy, an' be sure an' don't roll out,”--_after that!_

Russy snuggled deep down in the pillows and said he would go right to sleep; oh, right straight! He always had before. It made you forget the light was out, and there were queer, creaky night-noises all round your bed,--under it some of 'em; over by the bureau some of 'em; and some of 'em coming creepy, cree-py up the stairs. You dug your head deep down in the pillows, and the next thing you knew you were asleep,--no, awake, and the noises were beautiful day-ones that you liked. You heard roosters crowing, and Mr. Vandervoort's cows calling for breakfast, and, likely as not, some mother-birds singing duets with their husbands. Oh yes, it was a good deal the best way to do, to go right straight to sleep when Metta put the light out.

But to-night it was different, for the Lie was there. You couldn't go to sleep with a Lie in the room. It was worse than creepy, creaky noises,--mercy, yes! You'd swap it for those quick enough and not ask a single bit of ”boot.” You almost _wanted_ to hear the noises.

[Ill.u.s.tration: It was worse than creepy, creaky noises]

It came across the room. There was no sound, but Russy knew it was coming well enough. He knew when it got up close to the side of the bed. Then it stopped and began to speak. It wasn't ”out loud” and it wasn't a whisper, but Russy heard it.

”Move over; I'm coming into bed with you,” the Lie said. ”I hope you don't think I'm going to sit up all night. Besides, I'm always scared in the dark,--it runs in my family. The Lies are always afraid.

They're not good sleepers, either, so let's talk. You begin--or shall I?”

”You,” moaned Russy.

”Well, I say, this is great, isn't it! I like this house. I stayed at Barney Toole's last night and it doesn't begin with this. Barney's folks are poor, and there aren't any curtains or carpets or anything,--nor pillows on the bed. I never slept a wink at Barney's.

I'm hoping I shall drop off here, after a while. It's a new place, and I'm more likely to in new places. You never slept with one o' my family before, did you?”

”No,” Russy groaned. ”Oh no, I never before!”

”That's what I thought. I should have been likely to hear of it if you had. I was a little surprised,--I say, what made you have anything to do with me. I was never more surprised in my life! They'd always said: 'Well, you'll never get acquainted with that Russy Rand.

He's another kind.' Then you went and shook hands with me!”

”I had to.” Russy sat up in bed and stiffened himself for self-defence. ”I had to! When Jeffy Vandervoort said that about _Her_,--well, I guess you'd have had to if they said things about your _mother_--”

”I never had one. The Lies have a Father, that's all. Go ahead.”

”There isn't anything else,--I just _had_ to.”

”Tell what you said and what _he_ said. Go ahead.”

”You know all about--”

”Go ahead!”

Russy rocked himself back and forth in his agony. It was dreadful to have to say it all over again.

”Well, then,” doggedly, ”Jeffy said _my_ mother never did, but his did--oh, always!”