“‘Yes, miss, Grove Street,—just there a ways in the neatest little cottage you ever set eyes on, I reckon.’
“Involuntarily I thought of the woman and child seen that first evening of my arrival at Morrisville, and something told me I was going straight to that cottage with its roses, its vines, and bay-windows. The surmise was correct. I knew the house in an instant, and had there been a doubt it would have been dispelled by the widow’s cap and the little child out on the grass-plat, just where they were that other summer day so like this and yet so unlike it, for then I never guessed how sharp a pang I should be suffering now.
“‘There she is. That’s Mrs. West with Robin,’ Peter said, and the next moment I was speaking to Mrs. David West, and before she said to me, ‘You know my son,’ I felt sure she was the doctor’s mother.
“The same fine cast of feature, the same kind, honest expression beaming in the dark eye, and the same curve of the upper lip,—said by some to be always indicative of high breeding. The mother and son were very much alike, except that she as a female was noticeable for a softer style of beauty. I never saw one to whom the widow’s cap was so becoming. It seemed peculiarly adapted to her sad, sweet face and the silken bands of grayish hair, which it did not conceal. There was also in her manner and speech a refinement which even Bell Verner might have imitated with advantage. My heart went out to her at once, and by the time I was seated in the rustic chair, for I preferred remaining in the yard, I felt as much at ease as if I had known her all my life.
“‘This is Robin,’ she said, turning to the child, who I now discovered was a cripple in its feet, and unable to walk. ‘Did Richard ever tell you of Robin?’
“There was a hesitancy now in her voice, as if she knew Richard had never told me of him, and doubted her own integrity in asking the question.
“‘No,’ I replied, ‘the doctor never told me of Robin, nor yet of himself.’
“‘Richard is very reticent,’ she answered; and then as she saw my glance constantly directed to Robin, she evidently tried to keep me from talking of him by asking numberless questions about Richard, and by telling me what a good, kind child he was to her.
“It is true I did not suspect her then of such a motive, but I can see now how she headed me off from the dangerous ground on which I leaped at last, for I could not resist the expression of that child’s face, and breaking away from what she was telling me of Richard, I knelt by his chair, and kissing his round cheek, asked:
“‘Whose boy are you?’