"Harry! Harry! my boy Harry!" she cried, holding open her arms. The mother's quick instinct and penetrating love could not be deceived by appearances, no matter how altered. The form might be changed, and the features matured, but there was something that brought to her the memory of her child, the baby of long ago.
After the first greetings were over, Harry settled down, and prepared to unburden his mind. His mother noticed that he glanced about him wistfully and inquiringly.
"No," said Mrs. Hazeley, answering the query in his eyes, "Flora is not here. She went to stay with your Aunt Sarah, who is very ill. I am expecting to go myself, whenever I hear from her to that effect. Alec too, is away. He is living with that good old man, 'Major Benson,' you used to call him, you remember. Alec enjoys a country life. He intends to be a farmer, he says. It was very kind of him to give the boy such an opening. The poor child was so afraid of being a burden to us. I have every reason to be grateful for my children."
"Except me, mother," said Harry.
"No, my boy," returned his mother, looking keenly at him. "I am sure I have reason to be grateful for you too. But tell me, Harry, where have you been, and why did you not write to us, and keep us posted?"
The entire absence of reproach or fault finding, and the warm affection with which he was received by his mother, touched the young man very deeply, and with his heart made tender with these thoughts, he determined to confide fully all his past to his mother, from whom he felt sure he would receive ready sympathy.
When the story was told, Mrs. Hazeley could but exclaim, "Bless the Lord, oh my soul!"
"And forget not all his benefits," added Harry reverently.
They were interrupted at that moment by a knock upon the door—a quick, business-like, energetic knock.
"I know who that is," said Mrs. Hazeley, smilingly, as she arose to admit the new-comer. It was Flora.