"I am glad it is changed," she said. "It was very—" She could not bring herself to say kind or good or thoughtful. But Mammy Cely supplied the word. "He's mighty good to him, Miss Margaret—ain't he, honey?"
"Yes," said Philip. "He bwings me candy. And every night I go down to meet him. I can open the big gate now." And Margaret's heart felt another twinge.
"Mama's brought you something, darling. A dear little baby to hang on the wall. He will be company for you."
It was a Madonna picture—a Bodenhausen with the flowing tresses and the deep, sad eyes. Philip was full of interest in the baby.
"He's thes been havin' a bath," he explained, and Mammy Cely who had little knowledge of art but much of nature, commented, "Jes' look at the creases in the little laig! Aint that natch'el?"
"That is the way mama used to hold you, darling, when you were a dear helpless little baby. I am going to hang it over there in front of the bed so you can see it the first thing in the morning."
"It looks like you, mama," he said thoughtfully. "It's got the smile of you."
The smile of the Bodenhausen is very sad.
She caught him passionately to her arms.
"Does it look to you like mama? Then every morning when you look at it you must say, 'That is mama and little Philip.'"