e　was　saying　it　to　him　especially；　she　was　trying　to　help　himbecause　she　knew　he　was　in　trouble。　And　this　trouble　was　also　her　own；　which　she　would　never　tellto　John。　And　even　though　he　was　certain　that　they　could　not　be　speaking　of　the　same　things—forthen；　surely；　she　would　be　angry　and　no　longer　proud　of　him—this　perception　on　her　part　and　hisavowal　of　her　love　for　him　lent　to　John’s　bewilderment　a　reality　that　terrified　and　a　dignity　thatconsoled　him。　Dimly；　he　felt　that　he　ought　to　console　her；　and　he　listened；　astounded；　at　the　wordsthat　now　fell　from　his　lips：

‘Yes；　Mama。　I’m　going　to　try　to　love　the　Lord。’

At　this　there　sprang　into　his　mother’s　face　something　startling；　beautiful；　unspeakably　sad—as　though　she　were　looking　far　beyond　him　at　a　long；　dark　road；　and　seeing　on　that　road　atraveler　in　perpetual　danger。　Was　it　he；　the　traveler？　or　herself？　or　was　she　thinking　of　the　cross　ofJesus？　She　turned　back　to　the　wash…tub；　still　with　this　strange　sadness　on　her　face。

‘You　better　go　on　now；’　she　said；　before　your　daddy　gets　home。’

In　Central　Park　the　snow　had　not　yet　melted　on　his　favorite　hill。　This　hill　was　in　the　center　of　thepark；　after　he　had　left　the　circ　le　of　the　reservoir；　where　he　always　found；　outside　the　high　wall　ofcrossed　wire；　ladies；　white；　in　fur　coats；　walking　their　great　dogs；　or　old；　white　gentlemen　withcanes。　At　a　point　that　he　knew　by　instinct　and　by　the　shape　of　the　buildings　surrounding　the　park；he　struck　out　on　a