"I wish you had, mother. And there are some three hundred and odd more boys here, who would confidingly hand the job over to you. Then we'd have pie every day for dinner and cake for supper, Saturday in the middle of the week, and no Monday morning recitations."
"But Magnus," said Mrs. Kindred, bewildered over this very mixed lot of grievances, "don't you have cake for supper?"
"Now and then a mysterious compound which goes by that name," said Magnus. "We are having it scientifically analysed to see whether it is all new-process granite, or whether one part mud comes in."
But here the innocent, perplexed face was too much for him. He almost shouted with fun, tossing his cap up higher than it had ever been.
"You blessed mother!" he said. "You haven't changed one bit—not a pin's point. There was one on your shoulder just now to scratch me, exactly as there always used to be."
"Oh, my dear!" cried poor Mrs. Kindred. "I did not mean to leave that pin there. I just stuck it in last night in the sleeping car."
"But you always did 'just stick it in,' you know," said Magnus disrespectfully; "and I never remember the time when it didn't just stick out. It wouldn't be you without a pin on your shoulder."
"It wouldn't be you if you were not a saucy boy," said the mother, and then they looked in each other's eyes and laughed; how happy they were!
"All right, mammy," said Magnus. "That pin gave me a welcome nothing else could. How are the girls?"
"The girls are lovely," said Mrs. Kindred. "Cherry has tried to fill your place, Magnus, ever since you came away."