Arthur would have laughed, so perfect was the imitation of voice and gesture, but at the mention of Harold's mother there came into his mind a vision of sweet Amy Crawford, who had been his first love, and for whose son he had really done so little.
'Jerry,' he said, 'I guess you have cleaned house long enough. Wash your hands and come to me.'
She obeyed him, and looking into his face, said:
'Now, what? can you play cat's cradle or casino?'
'No; I want to talk to you of Harold. You love him very much?'
'Oh, a hundred bushels—him and grandma, too.'
'And he is very kind to you?'
'Yes, I guess he is. He never talks back, and I am awful sometimes, and once I spit at him, and struck him; but I was so sorry and cried all night, and offered to give him my best doll 'cause it was the plaything I loved most, and I went without my piece of pie so he could have two pieces if he wanted,' Jerry said, her voice trembling as she made this confession, which gave Arthur a better insight into her real character than he had had before.
Hasty, impulsive, repentant, generous, and very affectionate, he felt sure she was, and he continued;
'Does Harold go to school?'