You pondered.
"Well," you said, and stopped.
"Well?" she said, and laughed. Then you laughed, too.
"A mother," you told them afterwards, "is a person what takes care of you, and loves you, and sews and sews—just enough—all day."
Since mothers take care of little boys, they told you, little boys should take care of their mothers, too. So right in front of her you stood, bravely, your fists clinched, your lips trembling, your eyes flashing with rage and tears.
"You sha'n't touch my mother!"
But Mother's arms stole swiftly around you, pinning your own to your side.
"Father was only fooling, dear," she said, kneeling behind you and folding you to her breast. "See, he's laughing at us."
"Why, little chap," he said, "Father was only playing."
Mother wiped away your tears, smiling at them, but proudly. You looked doubtfully at Father, who held out his arms to you; then slowly you went to him, urged by Mother's hand.