For valour.

           Ihopeyoudon’tmindmytellingyouagooddealaboutRoberta.ThefactisIamgrowingveryfondofher.ThemoreIobserveherthemoreIloveher.AndInoticeallsortsofthingsaboutherthatIlike.

           Forinstance,shewasquiteoddlyanxioustomakeotherpeoplehappy.Andshecouldkeepasecret,atolerablyrareaccomplishment.Alsoshehadthepowerofsilentsympathy.Thatsoundsratherdull,Iknow,butit’snotsodullasitsounds.Itjustmeansthatapersonisabletoknowthatyouareunhappy,andtoloveyouextraonthataccount,withoutbotheringyoubytellingyouallthetimehowsorrysheisforyou.ThatwaswhatBobbiewaslike.SheknewthatMotherwasunhappy—andthatMotherhadnottoldherthereason.SoshejustlovedMothermoreandneversaidasinglewordthatcouldletMotherknowhowearnestlyherlittlegirlwonderedwhatMotherwasunhappyabout.Thisneedspractice.Itisnotsoeasyasyoumightthink.

           Whateverhappened—andallsortsofnice,pleasantordinarythingshappened—suchaspicnics,games,andbunsfortea,Bobbiealwayshadthesethoughtsatthebackofhermind."Mother’sunhappy.Why?Idon’tknow.Shedoesn’twantmetoknow.Iwon’ttrytofindout.ButsheISunhappy.Why?Idon’tknow.Shedoesn’t—"andsoon,repeatingandrepeatinglikeatunethatyoudon’tknowthestoppingpartof.

           TheRussiangentlemanstilltookupagooddealofeverybody’sthoughts.