My lip began to quiver, but I mastered the emotion and he went on:
“Thought I should have seen you before, my lad. Didn’t think I should see you for some time. Thought perhaps I should never see you again. Thought you’d be sure to come and say ‘Good-bye!’ before you went. Contradictions—eh?”
“I always meant to come over and see you, Mr Brownsmith,” I said.
“Of course you did, my lad. Been damp and cold. Want more sun badly.”
I said I hoped the weather would soon change, and I began to feel uncomfortable and was just thinking I would go, when he thrust the piece of matting in his pocket, and took up and began stroking one of the cats.
“Ah! it’s a bad job, my lad!” he said softly—“a terrible job!”
I nodded.
“A sad job, my lad!—a very sad job!”
I nodded again, and waited till a choking sensation had gone off.
“Boys don’t think enough about their mothers—some boys don’t,” he went on. “I didn’t, till she was took away. You did—stopped with her a deal.”