“There doesn’t happen to be anything you want to say to me, I suppose, Bab?” he inquired in a gentle tone.
Although not a weeping person, shedding but few tears even when punished in early years, his kind tone touched my Heart, and made me lachrymoze. Such must always be the feelings of those who decieve.
But, although bent, I was not yet broken. I therfore wept on in silence while father patted my back.
“Because,” he said, “while I am willing to wait until you are ready, when things begin to get to thick I want you to know that I’m around, the same as usual.”
He kissed the back of my neck, which was all that was visable, and went to the door. From there he said, in a low tone:
“And by the way, Bab, I think, since you bought me the Tie, it would be rather nice to get your mother somthing also. How about it? Violets, you know, or—or somthing.”
Ye gods! Violets at five dollars a hundred. But I agreed. I then sat up in bed and said:
“Father, what would you say if you knew some one was decieving you?”
“Well,” he said, “I am an old Bird and hard to decieve. A good many people think they can do it, however, and now and then some one gets away with it.”
I felt softened and repentent. Had he but patted me once more, I would have told all. But he was looking for a match for his cigar, and the opportunaty passed.