The older man looked a little guilty. “Well--yes--fact is--I told her. She kind o’ got it out o’ me,” he added in defence.
The boy smiled. “She always gets it out of you.--Never mind if it has n’t hurt her.” He turned again toward the house.
She was very quiet as he entered the room. The blinds were closed and the little light that came through the shutters made a kind of cool dusk. He crossed to the lounge and laid the flowers by her hand. The delicate fingers reached out and closed over them. “Clover blossoms,” she said softly. “I was wishing today--We used to have them in the yard-before the lawn-mower--” The fingers strayed here and there, touching them gently. “Are they crimson?”
“Guess again.” His voice was full of gentle love.
“Not crimson, no.... But they ’re not white, either--”
The eyes flashed open and looked at him. “What happened today?”
“The accident--Yes. But there was something else--”
He laughed quietly. “You always know, don’t you! Was it good or bad!”
“And for all of us, mother.” He bent toward her. “We were talking about it last night--about my going back--if he wanted me.”
He nodded. “He came down to look after the accident, and his train stopped a minute at the office. He wants me--I think he needs me--But it ’s for you to say, mother--you and father.”
The breath of a sigh came to her lips and changed to a smile. “Ah, if you can get your father to go--”
He smiled back, his eyes searching her face for the slightest shadow that should cross it. “He ’ll go,” he said decisively. “And he ’ll like it--after we get there. But will _you_ like it, mother! That ’s what I ’m afraid of--You ’ll miss your friends--and little things--”
“I shall have you,” she returned quickly, “and your father--and President Tetlow.”
He smiled a little at the picture. But his face had suddenly cleared. “I believe you _would_ like him,” he said. “I never thought before how much alike you are--you two--in some ways!”
She laughed out. “He’s a terrible hard man to get on with!”
He bent and kissed her cheek lightly. “For other people, perhaps--not for you--or me.” She had lifted the clovers and was looking at them. “How beautiful they are!” she said softly. They dropped again to her side. “I want to go.” She was looking at him with clear eyes. “And I want _you_ to go--I didn’t see how it was when we talked it over last winter--how much it would mean to you. I dreaded the change and your father is so hard to move--and I thought, too, that it would be too much for you--having me to look after and all the responsibility besides. I did n’t see then--but I’ve been thinking about it months now, lying here. You really liked the work there and that made it easy--” She was looking at him inquiringly.