“What’s the matter?” asked Forbes, his eyes twinkling. “Eaten too much already?”
“No; but you see my mother likes it and she hasn’t had any since last summer. I’d rather take mine to her.”
“There’s plenty left for your mother. I’ll put this pail in a bigger one and pack ice about it. Then it won’t melt.”
“But you paid me for it,” protested David.
“That’s all right. Your mother was pretty 24 good to me when I was a boy. She dried my mop of hair for me once so my stepmother would not know I’d been in swimming. Tell her I sent the cream to her. Say, you were right about Miss M’ri making the best cream in the country. It used to be a chronic pastime with her. That’s how I guessed what you had when you said you came from there. Whenever there was a picnic or a surprise party in the country she always furnished the ice cream. Isn’t she married yet?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t she keep company with some lucky man?”
“No,” again denied the boy emphatically.
“What’s the matter? She used to be awfully pretty and sweet.”
“She is now, but she don’t want any man.”