Rachel (Laughing): Tom isn’t up yet. Have you seen Jimmy?
Mrs. Loving: Jimmy? No. I didn’t know he was awake, even.
Rachel (Going to her mother and kissing her): Well! What do you think of that! I sent the young gentleman to you, a few minutes ago, for help with his nails. He is very much grown up this morning, so I suppose that explains why he didn’t come to you. Yesterday, all day, you know, he was a puppy. No one knows what he will be by tomorrow. All of this, Ma dear, is preliminary to telling you that Jimmy boy has stolen a march on you, this morning.
Mrs. Loving: Stolen a march! How?
Rachel: It appears that he took his bath all by himself and, as a result, he is so conceited, peacocks aren’t in it with him.
Mrs. Loving: I heard the water running and thought, of course, it was Tom. Why, the little rascal! I must go and see how he has left things. I was just about to wake him up.
Rachel: Rheumatism’s not much better this morning, Ma dear. (Confronting her mother). Tell me the truth, now, did you or did you not try that liniment I bought you yesterday?
Mrs. Loving (Guiltily): Well, Rachel, you see—it was this way, I was—I was so tired, last night,—I—I really forgot it.
Rachel: I thought as much. Shame on you!
Mrs. Loving: As soon as I walk around a bit it will be all right. It always is. It’s bad, when I first get up—that’s all. I’ll be spry enough in a few minutes. (Limps to the door; pauses) Rachel, I don’t know why the thought should strike me, but how very strangely things turn out. If any one had told me four years ago that Jimmy would be living with us, I should have laughed at him. Then it hurt to see him; now it would hurt not to. (Softly) Rachel, sometimes—I wonder—if, perhaps, God—hasn’t relented a little—and given me back my boy,—my George.