“I plead guilty to an inaccuracy of nomenclature,” Hezekiah responded with great solemnity, removing his glasses and flourishing them.
“What did you say, Mr. Wilkins?” asked Virginia in smiling bewilderment.
His eyes began to twinkle and in spite of his serious face she caught his mood and they burst into a peal of laughter.
“Miss Dale–” he began.
She interrupted him. “Call me Virginia as you always have done, Mr. Wilkins,” she urged. “Please do.”
“It will be easier,” he admitted, and then for a moment he studied her face thoughtfully. “You are looking more like your mother, every day, Virginia. She was a beautiful woman–a very beautiful woman,” he continued dreamily. “As good, too, as she was beautiful. It seems to me, now, that her life was given up to doing kindnesses to others. I have always been proud that your mother accepted me as one of her friends.”
His words awakened eager interest in the girl. “Tell me about her, please, Mr. Wilkins,” she begged, as he paused.
He smiled gently into the wistful eyes of blue, as happy remembrances of the past returned to him. “Your mother came into our lives as a gentle zephyr from her own beautiful Southland. With her came memories of bright sunshine, growing flowers and perfumed air. These things radiated from her–a part of her life. Happiness and joy were ever her constant companions and the gifts she would shower.”
Virginia’s eyes were big with the tender longings of her heart. “My mother tried to make every one else happy, didn’t she?”
The countenance of Hezekiah softened and his voice was tempered by gentle memories as he said, “If she tried to do that, she succeeded. Every one who knew your mother was the happier for it.”