“It’s in the parlour, on the bracket,” he replied, marvelling. “Why?” 

 She cried and laughed together, and bending over, kissed his cheek. 

 “I only just thought of it,” she said, hysterically. “Why didn’t I think of it before? Why didn’t you think of it?” 

 “Think of what?” he questioned. 

 “The other two wishes,” she replied, rapidly. “We’ve only had one.” 

 “Was not that enough?” he demanded, fiercely. 

 “No,” she cried, triumphantly; “we’ll have one more. Go down and get it quickly, and wish our boy alive again.” 

 The man sat up in bed and flung the bedclothes from his quaking limbs. “Good God, you are mad!” he cried, aghast. 

 “Get it,” she panted; “get it quickly, and wish—Oh, my boy, my boy!” 

 Her husband struck a match and lit the candle. “Get back to bed,” he said, unsteadily. “You don’t know what you are saying.” 

 “We had the first wish granted,” said the old woman, feverishly; “why not the second?” 

 “A coincidence,” stammered the old man. 

 “Go and get it and wish,” cried his wife, quivering with excitement. 

 The old man turned and regarded her, and his voice shook. “He has been dead ten days, and besides he—I would not tell you else, but—I could only recognize him by his clothing. If he was too terrible for you to see then, how now?” 

 “Bring him back,” cried the old woman, and dragged him toward the door. “Do you think I fear the child I have nursed?” 

 He went down in the darkness, and felt his way to the parlour, and then to the mantelpiece. The talisman was in its place, and a horrible fear that the unspoken wish might bring his mutilated son before him ere he could escape from the room seized upon him, and he caught his breath as he found that he had lost the direction of the door. His brow cold with sweat, he felt his way round the table, and groped along the wall until he found himself in the small passage with the unwholesome thing in his hand. 

 Even his wife’s face seemed changed as he 

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