From the far end of the train a tall, grey-haired man assisted a slender sweet-faced woman to the ground, and then walked towards the station. As they stepped to the platform the woman’s eyes rested on Donald, who stood with his back to her. Instantly she became rooted to the spot, eyes wide, one hand fluttering toward her heart. With the supreme, wondrous mother-love shining in her eyes, she held out her arms.
“Donald!” she cried passionately, “Donald!”
Donald whirled at the sound of the loved voice calling his name. His heart throbbed wildly, his throat felt constricted and his face paled under stress of strong emotion.
“Mother!”
His arms were around his mother, yearning, tender, hungry, after these long months of separation. Her face upturned to his was white and drawn, but her eyes shone with hallowed joy. He felt his hand gripped in his father’s strong fingers, and saw his eyes shining with tears. John McLean patted his boy’s dark head with a shaking hand.
“Donnie! My boy, Donnie!”
For some time Donald was oblivious to all save the great happiness of meeting his parents. His mother’s embrace almost unmanned him, and it was with difficulty that he kept back the sobs that tightened his throat.
He led his parents to the other end of the platform and introduced them to his friends.
Robert Rennie’s comments were simply gasps and a reiterated, “Well! Well!”
Andy offered his usual contribution. “Strike me pink!” he said.