But he had given his word to tell no one, so the boy was uncertain, then decided that it would be alright to tell his mother, for he trusted her with all his secrets. "I have always kept your secrets, Clay. What secret do you have now?" She played his game, for they had often shared silly secrets of no import to any but themselves and it was a sharing that she cherished, for it gave special meaning to their relationship. "Tell me quick, for you must sleep. The sandman is coming along... " she placed her hand to her ear and continued, "... Ah, here he is, coming up the drive." "Momma, nanny says the sandman is not real... that he is like my dreams." Clay looked importantly at his mother, as though he thought her silly for believing such things. "And Papa says she is for once very right, though he still thinks her brain addled and her mouth like a magpie... " "Hush, Clay. You must not repeat everything you hear, and the Marquis is not always as kind as he should be. I don't want you to be that way.
