The boy glanced at him with swift twinkle. “Look behind you, sir.”
Simeon flashed back a quick look. Behind them was the porter, laden with bags and mgs. and bundles, and on his great shoulders the green branches swayed and nodded as he moved. They framed the big face with its gleaming smile—like some grotesque, dark-skinned dryad in the smoky station.
Simeon’s eye sought the boy’s—a little anxiously, it seemed, “Going to trim the office?” he said.
He laughed back. “I ’m carrying them home to her.”
He called a carriage, and the porter stowed away the boxes and bags and mgs, piling the mass of pine and spruce on the seat in front of them till the carriage was filled with its subtle fragrance.
Simeon leaned forward in the half light and plucked a little spray of the cedar, placing it in his coat. “That is for me,” he said, smiling a little, as he buttoned the coat over it, “the rest is for her.”
The great office building loomed at the right as they drove, and he glanced out quickly. “Same old place!” he said. His face wore a contented look and his hand reached out, in the dim light, to the stubby one resting on the boy’s knee and closed upon it for a moment with firm grasp.... “Tomorrow, Boy,” he said, “we begin again.”
“Tomorrow, sir,” replied the boy.
He entered the house lightly, but not so lightly that her sensitive ear did not catch the sound and hold itself attent to listen—“John?” Her voice searched the darkness. “John?—Is it you?”
He came in swiftly—“Bad mother!” He dropped on his knees beside her and laid his cool cheek to hers.... “Bad mother—to lie awake!” Her hand reached up to stroke his face.... “How fragrant you are—like the woods!”