II
Meanwhile, happy letters were coming almost daily from the Gaylord family, and less frequently, but with expressions of equal conviction, from Mr. Kendal.
Mrs. Gaylord had promised to spend Easter week with relatives, in a Middle Western town, which she had not visited—indeed, had scarcely dared to think of—since taking Frederick’s body there for burial; and the day after the second Lesson was given she arrived in New York, where she paused briefly en route, her elder daughter and son-in-law joining her the next morning.
Although her train arrived late in the evening, we talked a little to Frederick before separating for the night. We had been commenting on her changed appearance.
“Mother dearest, you are not much differenter than I am,” he began, after the usual signature.
“Why, Frederick!” she exclaimed. “Are you better, too?”
He made the enthusiastic little circle so often used. “(O) So much better! You can’t guess how much better I am. It helps me as much as it does you.”