His own home at least had changed not at all. The virginia-creeper was brilliant as ever on its walls; the arabis humming with bees beneath the study-window.
As he passed through the gate, his mother, who must have been waiting, opened to him quietly, and held up a warning finger.
She was beautiful still, but showing wear, as must a woman of fifty, who has never spared herself. Her hair was now snow-white; her complexion, as seen in the passage, fine as ever; her eyes the same startling blue under fierce brows, but the lines about them had an added kindness.
She led past the study-door into the kitchen, walking a little stiffly, her bones more apparent than of old.
Ern followed her with a smile, his hand scraping the familiar varnished paper, his eye catching that of the converted drain-pipe.
She was still clearly a woman of one idea—dad.
Cautiously his mother closed the door of the kitchen behind him. Then she turned and put her hands upon his shoulders.
There was something yearning in her gesture as of a puzzled child asking an explanation. Ern's quick intuitions told him that since he had last seen her his mother had lost something and was missing it. This he noticed and her hands—how worn they were. Fondly he kissed them, realizing a little wistfully that his mother now was an old woman.
She smiled at him.
"Let me see you," she said, and her eyes dwelt upon his face. For the first time in his life he felt that his mother was depending on him, and was moved accordingly.