But the thread broke, and she
couldn't seem to get the needle threaded again. You could see they were
both bothered. How we do reveal ourselves in the details!
By and by the clock struck nine, and then ten, their usual hour for
retiring. But they made no move toward retiring. She said, "Aren't you
going to bed?" And he said, "I think I'll not go yet a bit; you go."
"No, I guess I'll wait a while, too." And the clock struck eleven, and
the hands worked around toward twelve. Then they arose, and locked up,
and went to bed, but--not to sleep. Each one made pretence to be asleep,
and each one knew the other was not asleep. By and by she said (women
are always the keener), "Why don't you sleep?" And he said gently, "How
did you know I wasn't sleeping? Why don't you sleep?"
"Well, I just can't for thinking of the boy up in the attic."
"That's the bother with me," he replied. And the clock in the hall
struck twelve, and one, and two. Still no sleep came.
[Illustration: "_I'm going up stairs with Phil_."]
At last he said, "Mother, I can't stand this any longer; I'm going up
stairs with Phil." And he took his pillow and went softly out of the
room, and up the attic stairs, and pressed the latch-key softly, so as
not to wake the boy if he were asleep, and tiptoed across the attic
floor to the corner by the window, and looked--there Phil lay, wide
awake, with something glistening in his eyes, and what looked like
stains on his cheeks.
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