The slight
figure in the dove-colored gown looked back lingeringly. It gave a new
ache to my heart to see her there.
She did not notice me as I slipped down from my saddle and fastened my
horse at the long rack. But when I called she turned and came to me with
open arms.
"Jack!" she cried. "My son, how I have missed thee! Now thee has come
back to thy mother." She put her forehead on my shoulder, but presently
took up a mother's scrutiny. Her hand stroked my hair, my unshaven
beard, took in each line of my face.
"Thee has a button from thy coat," she said, reprovingly. "And what is
this scar on thy neck--thee did not tell me when thee wrote, Jack, what
ails thee?" She looked at me closely. "Thee is changed. Thee is
older--what has come to thee, my son?"
"Come," I said to her at length, and led her toward the steps of the
little church.
Then I broke out bitterly and railed against our ill-fortune, and cursed
at the man who would allow her to live in servants' quarters--indeed,
railed at all of life.
"Thee must learn to subdue thyself, my son," she said. "It is only so
that strength comes to us--when we bend the back to the furrow God sets
for us.
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