He laid down the rattle, and felt suddenly lonely and unhappy.
"Little pet--ug--la--la--goo--losh!" Henry Fitzgeorge raised his eyes.
His Friend was a long, long way away; his eyes grew cold with contempt.
He hated this thing that made the noises and closed out the light.

He opened his eyes, he was about to burst into one of his most abandoned roars when his stare encountered his mother.

Her eyes were watching him, and they had in them a glow and radiance that gave him a warm feeling of companionship.

"I know," they seemed to say, "what you are thinking of.
I agree with all that you are feeling about her.

Only don't cry, she really isn't worth it." His mouth slowly closed then to thank her for her assistance, he raised the rattle and shook it at her.