David took the garment from her.
“Sit down and eat this ice cream Miss M’ri sent––no, I mean Joe Forbes sent you. There was more, but I sold it for half a dollar; and here’s a pail of eggs and a drawing of tea she wants you to sample. She says she is no judge of black tea.”
“Joe Forbes!” exclaimed his mother interestedly. “I thought maybe he would be coming back to look after the estate. Is he going to stay?”
“I’ll tell you all about him, mother, if you will sit down.”
He began a vigorous turning of the wringer.
The patient, tired-looking eyes of the woman brightened as she dished out a saucer of the cream. The weariness in the sensitive lines of her face and the prominence of her knuckles bore evidence of a life of sordid struggle, but, above 30 all, the mother love illumined her features with a flash of radiance.
“You’re a good provider, David; but tell me where you have been for so long, and where did you see Joe?”
He gave her a faithful account of his dinner at the Brumble farm and his subsequent meeting with Joe, working the wringer steadily as he talked.
“There!” he exclaimed with a sigh of satisfaction, “they are ready for the line, but before I hang them out I am going to cook your dinner.”
“I am rested now, David. I will cook me an egg.”