"Always had custard for tea, my mother's sister had. Lord, how us young ones'd...."
The recollection brought a happy look. Tom was glad. With pleasant thoughts Honey would not have the wistful yearning in his eyes which he had turned on him lately whenever he went away.
"There was a hunt in Cheshire. Onst I saw a lord—a dook, I think he was—ridin' to 'ounds. Sat his 'orse as if he was part of him, he did...."
This too died away without sequence, though the happy look remained. The smile grew rapt, distant perhaps, as memory took him back to long forgotten trifles. Just outside the window a robin fluted in a tree.
Honey turned his head slightly to say: "Have I been asleep, Kid?"
"No; you haven't had your eyes shut."
"Oh, but I must have. Couldn't dream if I was wide awake. I saw ma—just as plain as—" He recovered himself with a light laugh—"Wouldn't it bust yer braces to 'ear me sayin' ma? But that's what us childern used to call...."
Once more he turned in profile, lying still, silent, radiant, occupied. The robin sang on. Tom looked at his watch. It was time for him to be stealing away. Now that Honey was better, he didn't mind going without a farewell, because he could explain himself next time. He was glancing about for the nurse when Honey said, softly, casually, as if greeting an acquaintance:
"Hello—ma!"
He lifted both hands, but they dropped back, heavily. Tom, who had half risen, fell on his knees by the bedside, seizing the hand nearest him in both his own.