"Driving with her, dear?" she asked, with smiling, searching eyes upon his averted face.
"She gave me a lift," Dave replied, coming over and sitting down at the table.
His mother, instead of helping him to his food, suddenly came round to his side and laid one affectionate hand upon his great shoulder. The contrast in these two had something almost ridiculous in it. He was so huge, and she was so small. Perhaps the only things they possessed in common, outside of their mutual adoration, were the courage and strength which shone in their gray eyes, and the abounding kindliness of heart for all humanity. But whereas these things in the mother were always second to her love for her boy, the boy's first thought and care was for the great work his own hands had created.
"Dave," she said very gently, "when am I going to have a daughter? I'm getting very, very old, and I don't want to leave you alone in the world."
The man propped his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand. His eyes were almost gloomy.
"I don't want to lose you, ma," he said. "It would break me up ter'ble. Life's mostly lonesome anyhow." Then he looked keenly up into her face, and his glance was one of concern. "You—you aren't ailing any?"
The old woman shook her head, and her eyes smiled back at him.
"No, boy, I'm not ailing. But I worry some at times. You see, I like Betty very, very much. In a different way, I'm almost as fond of her as you are——"
Dave started and was about to break in, but his mother shook her head, and her hand caressed his cheek with infinite tenderness.
"Why don't you marry her, now—now that the other is broken off——"