The trying moment of the day was when he had to go to bed. His parents
were extraordinarily prejudiced about bedtime, just when he was
enjoying himself most. When visitors had arrived and conversation was
well started--none the less interesting to him because he understood
scarcely half of what was said--it was: "Now, to bed!"
But there were happy moments after he was in bed, too. When Mother came
in and said prayers with him, and he lay there safely fenced in by the
tall trellis-work, each bar of which, with its little outward bend in
the middle, his fingers knew so well, it was impossible to fall out
through them. It was very pleasant, the little bed with its railing,
and he slept in it as he has never slept since.
It was nice, too, to lie on his back in bed and watch his parents
getting ready to go to the theatre, Father in a shining white shirt and
with his curly hair beautifully parted on one side Mother with a crêpe
shawl over her silk dress, and light gloves that smelled inviting as
she came up to say goodnight and good-bye.