“Mother,” Jim was saying, “this is Allan West.”
She rose with a little cry of pleasure, letting her sewing fall unheeded to the floor, and held out her hands to him.
“So this is Allan West!” she said, in a voice soft and sweet and gentle. “This is the boy who saved my boy’s life!”
“It was nothing,” stammered Allan, turning crimson. “You see, I just happened to be there—”
“Nothing! I wonder if your mother would think it nothing if some one had saved you for her!”
A sudden mist came before Allan’s eyes; his lips trembled. And the woman before him, looking at him with loving, searching eyes, understood.
“Dear boy!” she said, and Allan found himself clasped close against her heart.