There came a sound of running feet in the hall below; then:
"Muvver!—it's muvver come back!" cried a rapturous voice.
And with a little sobbing cry Bobby's mother opened her arms to her son.
The Saving of Dad
On the boundary fence sat James, known as "Jim"; on the stunted grass of the neighboring back yard lay Robert, known as "Bob." In age, size, and frank-faced open-heartedness the boys seemed alike; but there were a presence of care and an absence of holes in Jim's shirt and knee-breeches that were quite wanting in those of the boy on the ground. Jim was the son of James Barlow, lately come into the possession of the corner grocery. Bob was the son of "Handy Mike," who worked out by the day, doing "odd jobs" for the neighboring housewives.
"I hain't no doubt of it," Bob was saying, with mock solemnity. "Yer dad can eat more an' run faster an' jump higher an' shoot straighter than any man what walks round."
"Shucks!" retorted the boy on the fence, with a quick, frown. "That ain't what I said, and you know it."
"So?" teased Bob. "Well, now, 'twas all I could remember. There's lots more, 'course, only I furgit 'em, an'—"
"Shut up!" snapped Jim tersely.
"'Course ev'ry one knows he's only a sample," went on Bob imperturbably. "An' so he's handsomer an'—"