"I didn't, ma. Cross my heart. It's only I—I kinda had him in my head.
That's all, dearie. That's all!"
"He can't provide, baby."
"'Shh-h-h, ma! Try to get calm, and maybe then—then things can come like you want 'em. 'Shh-h-h, dearie! I didn't mean it. 'Course Leo's only a kid. I—We—Mommy dear, don't. You're killing me. I didn't mean it. I didn't."
"Sure, baby? Sure?"
"Sure."
"Mama's girl," sobbed Mrs. Kaufman, scooping the small form to her bosom and relaxing. "Mama's own girl that minds."
They fell quiet, cheek to cheek, staring ahead into the gaslit quiet, the clock ticking into it.
The tears had dried on Mrs. Kaufman's cheeks, only her throat continuing to throb and her hand at regular intervals patting the young shoulder pressed to her. It was as if her heart lay suddenly very still in her breast.
"Mama's own girl that minds."
"It—it's late, ma. Let me pull down the bed."