“This is something new.”
“Well, to think you’d notice that! I was afraid I wasn’t going to get it done in time. Do you remember that plaid? It’s some of the first kilts you had. The brighter pieces I’ve worked into a quilt for you when you have a house of your own—if you’d want it.”
Billy did some quick imagining, then, as if challenging some argument against the patched quilt.
“Sure I’d want it,” he said. “I should think I would want it.”
All evening he watched to see whether there was any ground for Jean’s fears. It never occurred to him that his mother, with her tactful simplicity, might be watching him too. It was not until after Jean had gone to bed that they came nearer to an understanding. For a few minutes she knitted while he watched her and listened to the clock ticking on towards midnight. Then without looking up she asked:
“Did you have any good times this term?”
She had never inquired about his “good times” before, and he wondered, half pleased, how she knew. He felt a pleasant warmth covering his face as he answered:
“A few, toward the last.”
She didn’t seem to notice his embarrassment. She suggested casually:
“Let’s move up closer to the stove and open the