"Oh!" It was all Rod could say, as with eyes full of sorrow he fixed them upon the face of the story-teller.
"Yes, he was killed," the woman continued in a low voice, while with a great effort she restrained her feelings. "It was in a railway accident. His wife was thus left alone. She was a stranger and without money, and for days she wandered about trying to get work. But no one wanted a woman with a baby. She was told to put it either in the Poor-House, or the Orphan Home, or let somebody adopt it. If she did this, she knew that she would have to give up her darling forever, and this she could not do.
"At last, in despair, she worked her way back to her husband's old home. It was a dark cold night when she reached the house, and there she left the baby, and hurried away as fast as she could."
"Why didn't she stay there?" Rod enquired. "Wouldn't they have been glad to take her in? I know I should."
"Yes, dear, they certainly would. But this woman did not know them then, and she was very independent. She made up her mind that she would work hard, and when she had enough money she would go to see her boy."
"And did she?" was the eager enquiry.
"Not for years did she see him again. She worked so hard, and at times people treated her most cruelly. But her little boy was ever in her mind. For him she toiled, and for his sake she was willing to put up with almost anything. She sent what money she could for his support, but that was very little at first. Then one night she saw her boy! It was in a city, and she knew who he was, though he didn't know her. Oh, how she wanted to put her arms around him, and kiss him."
"Why didn't she do it?" Rod asked. "What stopped her?"
"She was afraid that he wouldn't love her as a boy should love his mother. So she made up her mind that she would win his love first, and when she was certain, then she would tell him who she was."
"And did she?"