“I knew you did. And if you could give her a lift with twenty dollars—now, when she needs it most, how beautiful it would be! You know you are not able to work as your brother does; but you can do this, and then your dear mother will stop worrying and grow strong and well again. I am sure you are not a selfish boy, to want to keep all the good things to yourself.”
She paused, noting with almost a start the effect of her cruel words.
The drawn little face had grown whiter and stiller with every fling, until she feared he was going to faint. But as he sat rigidly in his chair she went on.
“You’ll let me have the bird, won’t you?” she coaxed. “And those twenty silver dollars will make your mother so happy! I can imagine how she will kiss you and call you her darling, blessed little boy!”
Suddenly Doodles fixed his big brown eyes on the woman’s own, and involuntarily she recoiled. Their misery and reproach stabbed her soul. She dropped her glove, and stooped to pick it up, fumbling with its buttons. When she looked again, Doodles had turned away, and her composure came back.
“You want those bright silver dollars, I know, so I’ll count them over for you.”
She opened her bag, and tore apart a paper roll. Out poured the coins in a shining heap.
“See!” she cried. “Aren’t they pretty? And they’re all yours!” She began counting,—“One, two, three, four, five,”—they dropped one by one into the boy’s passive hand.
“I don’t want them!” he choked, and threw them passionately back into her lap. Then, with an overpowering sob, he turned from her and hid his face in his pillows.
“Why, now, you mustn’t do that!” she exclaimed. “I thought you wanted to help your mother and keep her well, so she wouldn’t have to go back to the hospital—”