"Now you've got a son, mother."
"But I've lost a daughter—my first-born."
"Oh, wait till you hear our plans!"
"He's going to settle down here—aren't you, Albert?"
Then they sat down, all three, and had a sweet, intimate talk of an hour, full of plans and hopes and confidences.
At last he kissed the radiant girl good night and, going into his own room, sat down by the stove and, watching the flicker of the flames through the chinks, pondered on the change that had come into his life.
Already he sighed with the stress of care, the press of thought, which came upon him. The longing uneasiness of the boy had given place to another unrest—the unrest of the man who must face the world in earnest now, planning for food and shelter; and all plans included Maud.
To go back to school was out of the question. To expect help from his father, overworked and burdened with debt, was impossible. He must go to work, and go to work to aid her. A living must be wrung from this town. All the home and all the property Mrs. Welsh had were here, and wherever Maud went the mother must follow; she could not live without her.
He was in the midst of the turmoil when Hartley came in, humming the "Mulligan Guards."
"In the dark, hey?"