Morton standing in the
doorway, looking at us.
Joyce uttered a scream of delight, and threw herself upon her. "Mine
mother! mine mother!" she repeated over and over again.
Mrs. Morton had the old, tired look on her face as she came forward,
rather hurriedly. "I cannot stay; there are people downstairs, and when
they have gone I must dress for dinner." She gave a sort of harassed
sigh as she spoke.
"Could you not rest a little first?" I returned. "You have been out the
greater part of the day, and you do not seem fit for the evening's
fatigue," for there was quite a drawn look about the lovely mouth.
She shook her head, but, nevertheless, yielded when I gave her up my
chair and put the boy in her arms; in his little chemise, and with his
dimpled shoulders and bare legs, he was perfectly irresistible to his
mother, and I was not surprised to see her cover him with kisses. "My
bonnie boy, my precious little son," I could hear her whisper, in a sort
of ecstasy, as I picked up the little garments from the floor and folded
them. I seemed to know by instinct that it was only this that she needed
to rest her; the drawn, weary lines seemed to vanish like magic. What a
sweet picture it was! But her pleasure, poor soul, was short lived; the
next moment she had recollected herself.
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