Tim was pale in spite of a summer’s tan. The stretcher bearers were as careful as possible, but every little jolt was painful to the fractured hip.
“It hurts I know,” whispered Frances.
“Not much, but thank you for thinking about it, all the same.” Tim had been wondering if any of them realized how much it did hurt.
“Just think how Jane and I bumped you and be thankful our skirts are where they are instead of stretched on oars and you swung in the middle.”
“I wonder if Mother is going to weep over me. Poor Mother! It does her good to cry, but Cousin Esther is so stern with her when she gives way. Of course I’m not crazy about being cried over, but I can stand it for the good of the cause. I can stand anything better than Mother’s suppressed expression. There she is! Yes, she has her suppressed expression!”
Mrs. Reynolds came slowly from the door. Her instinct was to fly to her son and throw herself on him, take his red head in her arms and weep, but, remembering Great-great-Aunt Patience, she held on to herself, knowing full well the stern Cousin Esther was looking at her from the small-paned window.
The mother bent over her boy, giving him a restrained peck. But he put his arms around her and drew her close.
“Come on, old lady, and don’t be so Coffinish. Give us what our Southern friends call a ‘sho nuf’ kiss.”
That was too much for poor Mrs. Reynolds. Not only did she give Tim a “sho nuf” kiss but added to it a genuine hug, while the tears fell fast. What did she care after all for old Great-great-Aunt Patience and her strength of character that kept her from shedding tears even if her three sons were drowned off Sankity?
“That’s something like!” declared Tim. “Now you won’t have to get a headache from restrained emotion. Never mind Cousin Esther. She will forget it by the time she makes enough pies for all of us.”