“Can I marry you, mammy?” laughed Tom, putting his arm around her as she came over to him. It was Tom she was most afraid of. For he was the youngest—and to her he was little short of a god. He had rebellious yellow hair and blue eyes—and little patches of whiskers were beginning to grow on his face.
“Yes,” said his mother, sweeping his girlish lips with a kiss.
“Me, too,” said “old” Ben—and he got it.
And so on all around while John smiled in ecstasy.
“Boys,” said the little mother, “there ain’t no girl I ever saw that’s fit for any of yous—ain’t so, John?”
John, of course, said yes.
Tom got up, and, after turning her back to the rest wiped the tears from his mother’s eyes.
“Boys,” announced the mother, “next Sunday there will be a turkey—and oyster stuffing!”
As she said it she went over and let her arms glide gently around the neck of Will, who had not spoken on the subject of marriage. He caught her hands and drew her arms closer while he smiled up at her—a little sadly. She kissed him on the great forehead, and he understood. There had been a brief love affair for him, but it was over. Simply a successful rival. He never spoke of it—nor did any one else. But at least two—understood.