“Mother, I’m sure something has happened!” exclaimed Joe, putting his arms around her and patting her on the shoulder, for she was a little woman.
“No, really,” she assured him. “I’m just a little worried, that’s all. Now you can help me set the table if you will. Clara has gone to take her music lesson and isn’t back yet.”
“Of course I will!” exclaimed Joe. “But what are you worried about, mother? I wish you’d tell me.”
“I can’t now, Joe. Perhaps I will some time. It isn’t anything serious—yet,” and with that Mrs. Matson hurried out of the room.
She smiled as she left her son, but when she reached the kitchen the same serious look came over her face again.
“I hope what he fears doesn’t come to pass,” she remarked to herself. “Poor Joe! it would be too bad if he couldn’t go to a boarding school when his heart is so set on it. And to become a pitcher! I wish he had some higher ambition in life, though I suppose all boys are alike at his age,” and she sighed.
“Hum,” mused Joe as he went about setting the table, for the Matsons kept no girl and Joe and his sister often helped their mother with the housework when their school duties permitted. “Something is worrying mother,” the lad went on. “I hope it isn’t anything about father’s business in the harvester works. He took a risk when he gave up his position in Bentville and took a new one here. But that was an exciting game all right,” and Joe smiled at the recollection as he went on putting the plates around at their places.