"W-what do you mean by that?"
Susan Betts gave a despairing gesture.
"Lan' sakes, child, how you do hold a body up! I meant what I said—that I didn't want the job of livin' with your pa if anything happened to you. You know as well as I do that he thinks you're the very axle for the earth to whirl 'round on. But, there, I don't know as I wonder—jest you left, so!"
The boy abandoned his position at the door, and came close to Susan
Betts's side.
"That's what I've always wanted to know. Other boys have brothers and sisters and—a mother. But I can't ever remember anybody only dad. Wasn't there ever any one else?"
Susan Betts drew a long sigh.
"There were two brothers, but they died before you was born. Then there was—your mother."
"But I never—knew her?"
"No, child. When they opened the door of Heaven to let you out she slipped in, poor lamb. An' then you was all your father had left. So of course he dotes on you. Goodness me, there ain't no end to the fine things he's goin' ter have you be when you grow up."
"Yes, I know." The boy caught his breath convulsively and turned away.
"I guess I'll go—to dad."