"Somebody's always sick," he grumbled out at last. "A fellow might as well not have a mother. I never saw the beat—nobody for miles around here can have the toothache without borrowing mother. I'm just sick and tired of it."
Ester had nearly laughed, but catching a glimpse of the forlorn face, she thought better of it, and said:
"Something is awry now, I know. You never want mother in such a hopeless way as that unless you're in trouble; so you see you are just like the rest of them, every body wants mother when they are in any difficulty."
"But she is my mother, and I have a right to her, and the rest of 'em haven't."
"Well," said Ester, soothingly, "suppose I be mother this time. Tell me what's the matter and I'll act as much like her as possible."
"You!" And thereupon Alfred gave a most uncomplimentary sniff. "Queer work you'd make of it."
"Try me," was the good-natured reply.
"I ain't going to. I know well enough you'd say 'fiddlesticks' or 'nonsense,' or some such word, and finish up with 'Just get out of my way.'"
Now, although Ester's cheeks were pretty red over this exact imitation of her former ungracious self, she still answered briskly:
"Very well, suppose I should make such a very rude and unmotherlike reply, fiddlesticks and nonsense would not shoot you, would they?"