They reached the steps.
"What's this, what's this?" buzzed the vane on its pole by the fence. Olof had made it himself one day, as a boy. It said no more, only muttered again, "What's this?"
The old woman mounted the steps. She said no word, nor ever looked behind her, but Olof followed her step by step. His own room was at the side of the house, by the kitchen, but he went on after her without a thought of escape.
She passed through the front room into the next, crossed to the window, and sank down in a chair. Olof followed close behind her, and stood, hat in hand.
There was a long silence.
"I never thought to go on such an errand as this to-night," said the woman heavily. She did not look at him; her eyes seemed fixed on something far away.
The boy's knees trembled, he could hardly stand.
"Shame—ay, 'twas shame I felt for you when you were born, old as I was, and never thinking to have more. Mayhap 'twas a sign you'd bring but shame to me after and all…." The words fell heavy as lead, and brought him to his knees.
"Mother!" He could say no more, but hid his face in her lap, and cried like a child.
A great warmth rose in the mother's breast and throbbed in her veins.