"Well, mother, happiness is a relative term, and depends, I imagine, upon how nearly we think we get what we think we want. I have had my chance and haven't thrown it away, and I suppose I ought to be happy. But then, I have lost my wife, whom I loved very dearly, and who loved me just as much, and I'm troubled about my child."
"Why?" they demanded. "Is there anything the matter with him?"
"No, not exactly. He's well enough, as babies go, and has a good enough nurse, as nurses go. But the nurse is ignorant, and not always careful. A child needs some woman of its own blood to love it and look after it intelligently."
Mis' Molly's eyes were filled with tearful yearning. She would have given all the world to warm her son's child upon her bosom; but she knew this could not be.
"Did your wife leave any kin?" she asked with an effort.
"No near kin; she was an only child."
"You'll be gettin' married again," suggested his mother.
"No," he replied; "I think not."
Warwick was still reading his sister's face, and saw the spark of hope that gleamed in her expressive eye.
"If I had some relation of my own that I could take into the house with me," he said reflectively, "the child might be healthier and happier, and I should be much more at ease about him."