"We've had
some pretty bad times this month," he continued, loud and manfully. "You
see, mother isn't so young as she was. She's well on in her thirties." A
glimmer of amusement appeared in Roger's heavy eyes. "But she don't cry
often any more, and with you here we'll pull her through." He shot a quick
look at his grandfather. "Gee, but I'm glad you're here!" he said.
"So am I," said Roger. And with a little pressure of his hand on George's
shoulder, "I guess you've had about your share. Now tell me the news. How
are things on the farm?"
With a breath of evident relief, the lad launched into the animal world.
And soon he was talking eagerly.
* * * * *
In the next few days with his daughter Roger found that George was right.
She had been through the worst of it. But she still had her reactions, her
spells of emptiness, bleak despair, her moods of fierce rebellion or of
sudden self-reproach for not having given Bruce more while he lived. And in
such hours her father tried to comfort her with poor success.
"Remember, child, I'm with you, and I know how it feels," he said. "I went
through it all myself: When your mother died--"
"But mother was so much older!" He looked at his daughter compassionately.
"How old are you?" he inquired.
"Thirty-six."
"Your mother was thirty-nine," he replied. And at that Edith turned and
stared at him, bewildered, shocked, brought face to face with a new and
momentous fact in her life.
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