I leaned against our iron railing for a minute or two to collect myself before making my appearance, and highly necessary was it for me to do so, because the attitude of the two ladies upon the veranda struck me dumb with amazement, and their conversation completely floored me. That sandy-haired little woman in the low rocker must be my mother, but could that regal figure on the edge of the veranda, with her head in my mother's lap, possibly be my wife? The light from the nursery window showed them to me distinctly, but I kept back in the shadow and listened to the voices.
"My puir lamb! Ye've grat eneugh! Gang awa' tae yer bed; ye're sair forfoughten."
As she stroked the wavy gray hair of the head on her knee, her tone changed.
"I canna thole to think 'at son o' mine has brocht a' this trouble upon ye."
"Not a word against him, mother! He's the best man that ever lived, and I didn't appreciate him, that's all. I can never think of him but as my dear, old, solid, yours-to-count-on Dave Gemmell. He was the silent partner, unpopular, getting no praise, paying all bills, backing me up in every fad, whether his judgment approved or not. He was just the square foundation I could lean away out on—could dance jigs on if I wanted to. Now that he is dead—or dead to me—I can only hope that he is happy. Oh! if I had but listened to you, mother, had never brought that girl into the house. My own vineyard have I not kept."
"Let by-ganes be by-ganes—but I wad jest like to hae Davvit by the lug."
"Lug along, mother! Here I am!" I managed to shout, and then I hung over that fence and laughed till my specs dropped off in the grass, and my stick fell away from me. I could not move without it, so I had to wait till the two women took pity on me and released me from my impalement.
Between them they got me into the house and on to my old sofa, and listened to what I had to say.
"I was share there must be some mistak'," said my mother, her self-respect restored, but, when I saw how affectionately her hand rested on the bowed head of her weeping daughter-in-law, I did not regret the bullet in my knee.
"We'll put it all down to your Theosophy, Belle—a collection of half-truths, more dangerous than lies, when you shove them too far."