“The littlest Garden girl can be some good, if she is only the gypsy and the blackbird, dancing and whistling,” said Florimel with dignity. “Here come Mr. and Mrs. Moulton. We’d better go in; Mrs. Moulton can’t sit out so late, now.”
“They let me come ahead of them to skim my own cream,” said Mark. “Bless their splendid old hearts! I hope I’ll never fail them.”
“Sons that fail usually walk into failure. You won’t fail them, Mark,” said Mrs. Garden, rising and helplessly trying to draw her scarf around her, to which end her three girls, Win, and Mark jumped to help her.
The Gardens and Mark met Mr. and Mrs. Moulton at the steps. Mr. Moulton smiled at Mary with the peculiar tenderness his eyes held for her, mingled with a quizzical look that was new.
“How do you like my son Mark? This is his first birthday; it was Mark Walpole’s nineteenth birthday, Marygold,” he said.
“Dear Mr. Moulton, we never, never shall be able to say how glad we all are; as glad as we can be for you, too,” said Mary, seizing her guardian by both hands.
“Ah, then I can see that you like my son Mark, for I’m sure you would not rejoice if I had a son whom you disapproved,” returned Mr. Moulton, swinging both of Mary’s arms by the extended hands, and ending by laying her hands on his shoulders while he kissed her cheek.
“I’ve liked Mark from the first time I saw him,” said Mrs. Moulton, temperately, but with a look at Mark that made her words sound warmer than their registered temperature. “When he came over from your house to talk to Mr. Moulton, he turned back to straighten a rug, and he helped me to catch my canary, which had flown out of his cage; he handled the little creature gently and wooed him with soft notes. There’s a boy, I said to myself, who is orderly; witness the rug. Gentle, patient; witness the bird. Kind and respectful; witness his bothering about the concerns of a woman of my age. I decided on the spot that Mark was a good boy; of course it was easy to see that he was well-bred. I’ve never altered my opinion.”
Mark looked at her, rosy red even to the tips of his ears. He went up to her with an entirely new freedom and affection of manner.
“See here, Mother Moulton,” he said. “You mustn’t praise me to total strangers!”