She looked at him in a helpless sort of way. “But you didn't answer back, did you, my son?” This came in a tone as if she feared to hear the details, knowing the boy's temperament, and his father's.
“I didn't say a word; Uncle George wouldn't let me. I'm glad now he stopped me, for I was pretty mad, and I might have said something I would have been sorry for.” The mother gave a sigh of relief, but she did not interrupt, nor did she relax the tautness of her body. “You ought to have heard Uncle George, though!” Harry rushed on. “He told him there was not a dog at Moorlands who would not have treated his puppy better than he had me—and another thing he told him—and that was that after to-day I was HIS son forever!”
St. George had been standing at the front window with his back to them, looking out upon the blossoms. At this last outburst he turned, and said over his shoulder:
“Yes—that's true, Annie—that's what I said and what I mean. There is no use wasting any more time over Talbot, and I don't intend to.”
“But Mr. Rutter will get over his temper.” (She never called him by any other name.)
“Then he will have to come here and say so. I shall never step foot in his house until he does, nor will Harry. As to his forgiving Harry—the boot is on the other leg; it is Talbot, not the boy he outraged, who must straighten out to-day's work. There was not a man who heard him who was not ashamed of him. Oh!—I have no patience with this sort of thing! The only son he's got—his only child! Abominable—unforgivable! And it will haunt him to his dying day! Poor as I am, alone in the world and without a member of my family above ground, I would not change places with him. No—Annie—I know how you feel, and God knows I have felt for you all these years, but I tell you the end has come! It's finished—over—I told him so to his face, and I mean it!”
The slight body sank back into her chair and her eyes filled with tears. Harry knelt beside her and put his arms about her. This mother, frail as she was, had always been his refuge and comfort: now he must do the comforting! (Keep moving, old red corpuscle, there is a lot of work ahead of you!)
“Don't worry, you dear little mother,” he said tenderly. “I don't know how it's coming out, but it will come out somehow. Let father go: Kate is the only thing that counts now. I don't blame her for anything she has done, and I don't blame myself either. All I know is that everything has gone wrong. But, wrong or right, I'm going to stay here just as long as Uncle George will let me. He's been more of a father to me than my own. It's you I can't get along without, you precious little mother,” and he patted her pale cheeks. “Won't you come in every day—and bring Alec too?” then, as if he had not yet asked her consent—“You don't mind my being here, do you?”
She drew his head close to her lips and kissed his cheek. “No, my son, I don't mind—I'm glad. Every night of my life I thank my Maker that you are here.” She raised her eyes to St. George, who stood looking down upon them both, and in a voice barely audible, an unbidden sob choking her utterance, faltered—“It's only one more proof of your goodness, St. George.”
He raised his hand in protest and a faint smile crossed his face. “Don't talk that way. Annie.”