"Don't be feelin' bad, mother. I'm t' be rare careful in th' bush, and you'll see me well and hearty wi' a fine hunt, wi' th' open water," said he, as he kissed her.
"I knows you'll be careful, an' I'll try not t' worry, but I has a forebodin' o' somethin' t' happen—somethin' that's t' happen t' you, Bob—oh, I feels that somethin's t' happen. Emily'll be missin' you dreadful, Bob. An'—'twill be sore lonesome for your father an' me without our boy."
"Ready, Bob!" shouted Dick from the boat.
"Don't forget your prayers, lad, an' remember that your mother's prayin' for you every mornin' an' every night."
"Yes, mother, I'll remember all you said."
She watched him from the door as he walked down to the shore with his father, and the boat, heavily laden, pushed out into the Bay, and she watched still, until it disappeared around the point, above. Then she turned back into the room and had a good cry before she went about her work again.
If she had known what those distant hills held for her boy—if her intuition had been knowledge—she would never have let him go.