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Rh shall discuss things. . . and who will no longer sit on my lap.”

He sat down on his father’s knee:

“What is it?” he asked, quietly, sensibly.

“I am going to tell you, Addie.”

The child understood:

“No, don’t tell me,” he said. “I am not inquisitive. And I am too young, perhaps, to know. It doesn’t matter. I dare say I shall know, later on. For the present, I’m just your little boy.”

He nestled against his father, in his arm:

“It’s so jolly, sitting with you like this. Uncle Paul always says, when he sees us bicycling, that we are just like chums, but he has never seen us like this.”

Should he tell him? thought Van der Welcke. Should he not tell him? If he told him, this would be the last time that he would take his son on his knees.

“I had made up my mind to tell you, Addie.”

“No, don’t.”

He did not tell him that evening. And the boy tried to be as he used to, especially at meals, but he was not very successful; his cheerfulness sounded forced. Then, two evenings later, Van der Welcke said:

“Come here, Addie. Come and sit on my lap.”

And that was the last time.

“Listen, I want to tell you all about it. When you know, perhaps you will feel a little older than you do now; but, when you know, you will be my