She anticipated the usual rebelliousness and struggle when at nine o’clock she said, “Bed-time, Ralph.”
“All right, mother.” To her astonishment he spoke with the utmost docility; he closed his book at once and came over and kissed her. With the same unusual docility he went across the room and kissed David. “I’m sorry you’re going away, Dave,” he whispered, and then he fled upstairs.
David looked at his mother.
“He’s a pretty good kid,” he said. “He won’t give you much trouble—not more than I’ve done.”
“You’ve never given any trouble, David.”
“Haven’t I?” He sprang up and went over to sit beside her. “Then don’t let me begin doing it now. Stop looking so troubled about me. That’s right, smile.”
She did her best, remembering that she had resolved to be cheerful.
Anyway, as the days passed and the time of David’s departure drew near there was one development on which his mother liked to dwell and from which she hoped and even dared to expect much. Dr. Ives had yielded to her persuasion and, as the first vacation that he had taken in years, was to accompany David on his journey. “A rest is all he needs,” his wife kept assuring herself. “A rest and a change—and when he comes back I won’t have to worry about him any more.” Dr. Ives had wanted her to take the trip, too, but she had refused. She knew that he could ill afford such an additional expense, and besides there was Ralph to look after; no doubt Maggie was competent to care for him, and his Aunt Hattie would be willing to take him in, but Mrs. Ives felt that the absence of his father would give her the most favorable opportunity of getting on the right terms with her younger boy. His sense of chivalry would be more likely to awaken when he was not under the surveillance of a masculine disciplinary eye.
David’s mother went with him to the shops and helped him to purchase his slender wardrobe. A careful purchaser she was, leading him from shop to shop in search of bargains, feeling with distrustful fingers the material of the suit at last selected, insisting on underwear of the thickest woolens and on pyjamas of flannel, for doubtless New Hampshire winters were even colder than those at home. David felt that he was rather old for his mother to be buying his clothes for him,—he was sixteen,—but he had not the heart to assert any independence in the matter, to intimate that he had outgrown the need of her guidance.
Likewise he restrained the desire to intimate to Maggie that her criticism and comments were unwelcome. Maggie attacked him one day when he was alone in the library.