He eyed me doubtfully.
“An’,” I began, “your mother, Moses––”
“But,” he interrupted, “mother wasn’t quite t’ be trusted in all things.”
“Not trusted!” I cried.
“You’ll not misunderstand me, Dannie?” he besought me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll not misunderstand, will you? But mother wasn’t quite t’ be trusted,” says he, “when it come t’ the discussion,” says he, pausing to permit a proper appreciation of the 229 learned word, which he had appropriated from my tutor’s vocabulary, “o’ my accomplishments.”
It had never occurred before.
“For mother,” he explained, “was somehow wonderful fond o’ me.”
The church-bell called him.
“Hear her voice, Dannie?” said he. “Hear her voice in that there bell? ‘Come––dear!’ says she. ‘Come––dear! Come––dear!’ Hear it ring out? ‘Come––dear! Come––dear! Come––dear!’”
I bade him God-speed with a heart that misgave me.