"Mrs. Howard," he began, "I—"
"Mother Howard," she corrected. "I ain't used to being called much else."
"Mother, then—although I 'm not very accustomed to using the title. My own mother died—shortly after my father came back from out here."
She walked to his side then and put a hand on his shoulders. For a moment it seemed that her lips were struggling to repress something which strove to pass them, something locked behind them for years. Then the old face, dim in the half light, calmed.
"What do you want to know, Son?"
"Everything!"
"But there is n't much I can tell."
He caught her hand.
"There is! I know there is. I—"
"Son—all I can do is to make matters worse. If I knew anything that would help you—if I could give you any light on anything, Old Mother Howard would do it! Lord, did n't I help out your father when he needed it the worst way? Did n't I—"