The old man drew his sleeve hastily across his eyes, then caught up his spade, and set to work again with renewed vigour. Presently a smile crossed his face, and he continued:—
"I called the earth cruel, but it ain't—it's kind! Don't it give us the flowers? Don't it take the ugly little brown bulb, and keep it warm, and nurse it, till the beautiful blossom is ready to come? Why, Master Theodore, the earth won't be able to keep your mother on the resurrection day, no more than it can keep the flowers from blooming when the spring's here. No one knows better than a gardener what the resurrection means, as I told the vicar."
John Bawdon stopped abruptly, seeing the child was perplexed. There was a troubled look on the handsome little face; a rebellious gleam in the clear, grey eyes; and the old man watched him furtively for a few minutes.
"John," Theodore said presently, "do you know I am going to have a new mother?"
"I have heard talk of something of the kind," was the cautious reply.
"You know," the child went on, lowering his voice, as though the subject was one not to be discussed openly, "my father is married again, and to-morrow they are coming home. Jane says he has forgotten my mother, and she says he will care less than ever for me now."
"Jane is a meddling, tattling woman, and ought to know better than to think such things, much less say 'em!" cried John Bawdon angrily. "She don't know anything about it, Master Theodore; you mustn't take notice of what she says."
"This strange woman cannot be my mother, can she, John?"
"No, sir, she cannot, that's certain. But if she's a kind, good lady, she may make things all the happier for you. Your own dear mother's body lies in the churchyard waiting for the resurrection day, and her pure spirit is with her Lord. Oh, my mistress!"
A tear fell from the old man's eyes into the brown earth, and the boy sighed.