Percy carried away his gifts, and did not come for a long time. His mother’s white wistful face seemed to put him in the wrong. “Any other fellow would have done the same under the circumstances,” thought Percy, sullenly; “I think my mother is too hard on me;” but even his conscience misgave him, when he would see her turn away sometimes with the tears in her eyes, after one of his boasting speeches. He was too young to be hardened. He knew, yes, surely he must have known? that he was grieving the tenderest heart in the world, and one day he would own that not all his grandfather’s wealth could compensate him for being a traitor to his mother.
CHAPTER XI.
THE WEE WIFIE.
And that same God who made your face so fair,
And gave your woman’s heart its tenderness,
So shield the blessing He implanted there,
That it may never turn to your distress,
And never cost you trouble or despair,
Nor granted leave the granted comfortless,
But like a river blest where’er it flows,
Be still receiving while it still bestows.