“Her loss was terrible, most terrible. Phil was such a dear, bright boy, and to die unconscious, as he did, must have nearly broken his mother’s heart.”
“Do you know her?” inquired John Temple.
“A little; merely through things connected with the schools and the church, you know. I used to teach at the schools once,” added the Mayflower, with a smile rippling over her rosy lips; “but Mrs. Layton made herself so disagreeable that I left off, and since then I have been one of her black sheep.”
“I hope I shall be one of her black sheep, too.”
“It has its disadvantages though, I assure you. If you have any little peccadillos or failings, Mrs. Layton will find them out and preach them on the housetops, unless you are in her good graces.”
“I am sure you have neither peccadillos nor failings.”
“Ask Mrs. Layton,” laughed May.
“Mrs. Layton’s opinion would never change mine.”
“Then you are stanch to your friends,” said May, looking at him with her beautiful eyes.
“I know I shall always be stanch to you.”