In the distance he could see the tower of the parish church, and his thoughts wandered to his dead mother, whose body lay buried in the peaceful churchyard yonder.
"Jane, what was my mother like—my own mother?" he asked presently.
"Why, my dear, you know. You've got her likeness in your bedroom."
"Yes, but you tell me. Had she brown eyes, Jane?"
"Law, no, sir! Her eyes were as blue as the heavens, and her hair was bright gold. You favour your father in looks, Master Theodore. Your blessed mother was as fair as a lily, and with a colour in her cheeks like a blush rose."
"I wish she had not died," the child said musingly.
"The Lord knows best, my dear."
"Does He? Did He send the strange woman, do you think, Jane?"
"Why—why, yes, I suppose so."
"And the little boy? Did you know he was lame? He cannot walk. Is it not sad? Why did God let him fall downstairs and hurt himself, Jane?"