“What is he doing? I should like to see the boy again.” Hester looked across at her son with a warm, loving light in her eyes.
“I don’t know exactly, but it’s something worth while, and calls for lots of energy. He says they are striking out into the dust and alkali now––right into the desert.”
“And doesn’t he say a word about when he is coming back?”
“Not a word, mother. He really has no home, you know. He says Scotland has no opening for him, and he has no one to depend on but himself.”
“He has relatives who are fairly well to do in Ireland.”
The Elder frowned. “So I’ve heard, and my aunts in Scotland talked of making him their heir, when I was last there.”
“He knows that, father, but he says he’s not one to stand round waiting for two old women to die. He says they’re fine, decorous old ladies, too, who made a lot of him. I warrant they’d hold up their hands in horror if they knew what a rough life he’s leading now.”
“How rough, my son? I wish he’d make up his mind to come home.”
“There! I told him this is his home; just as much as it is mine. I’ll write him you said that, mother.”