“Poor boy! It is some trouble, I know. Perhaps it would do you good to tell me.”
“No; don’t worry, mother. I’d rather be left alone, there’s a dear.”
“Only tell me this. Is it very bad? Does it hurt—much?”
“Where’s the use of talking? What cannot be cured must be endured. Life isn’t all a smooth run on rubber tires.”
“But it will pass, whatever it is. Bear up and be brave.”
“Yes; I suppose it will pass—when I am dead.”
She tried to smile.
“Only the young dream of death as a relief,” she said. “But such wild words hurt, Rex.”
“That’s all right, only leave me alone; you can’t help. Give me a kiss, and then go.”
A tear wet his forehead when Mrs. Carshaw laid her lips there.