He rested on his spade and looked up, but did not speak for a moment.
"Don't you know who I am?" I asked.
"Why yes, of course; you must be. . . ."
Without finishing he turned his head towards the porch and cried:
"Mother! Mother! Come and see who's here at last!"
Martin's mother came out of the porch, a little smaller, I thought, but with the same dear womanly face over her light print frock, which was as sweet as may-blossom.
She held up both hands at sight of me and cried:
"There, now! What did I tell you, doctor! Didn't I say they might marry her to fifty lords, but she wouldn't forget her old friends!"
I laughed, the doctor laughed, and then she laughed, and the sweetest part of it was that she did not know what we were laughing at.
Then I opened the gate and stepped up and held out my hand, and involuntarily she wiped her own hand (which was covered with meal from the porridge she was making) before taking mine.