"Well! if you are not a masterpiece," I thought to myself, "and who is the story-teller now?" and I walked after her as she sauntered toward the stable.
"Prince Fetlar," she said flicking me gently in the face with her handkerchief, "seems to me you take a great interest in the personal affairs of this family. Go right back to your lilacs and don't forget that you are adopted too."
"You young witch!" I thought, as I turned and went confusedly back to stand in my shrubbery stall.
I don't know what she said to Big Chief, but she came back presently, stepping lightly beside him.
He was clothed and in his right mind, but both eyes were swollen and his face was flushed. He agreed with her little lie about his toothache, but I had a heartache as I saw him throw his arms about his father's neck and say, "Oh! Dad."
Mr. Devering drew back and stared at him. "Why, First-Born! what unusual effusion. I do believe you value your parent after all."
Dear man! so good, but so blind just now. The boy thought he was taking a last farewell of the person he loved better than anyone else.
I was proud of him when he went to sit beside his mother. Never before had he waited on her so politely, though he ate nothing himself.
The expression in his eyes seemed to puzzle her. I watched her carefully as she examined him. I have seen a good many mothers and a good many children and I have seen a few adopted children. There is a difference. A mother looks at her own child in a peculiar way—a way a man does not.