ieved--and
rested--and soothed! It's mothers whose hearts break with
lonesomeness--mothers and ugly little dogs." She took the moping
little beast up in her lap and stroked his rough coat.

"You shall go too," she whispered. "You can't wait three days more,
either, can you? It would have killed you, too, wouldn't it? We are
glad those other people went away, aren't we? Now we'll go to the
Boy."

Early the next morning they went. The Mother thought she had never
been so happy before in her life, and the ugly little beast yelped
with anticipative joy. In a little--a very little--while, now, they
would hear the Boy shout--see him caper--feel his hard little palms
on their faces. They would see the trail of the Boy over everything;
not a make-believe, made-up trail, but the real, littered, _Boy_
thing.

"I hope those other two people are enjoying their trips. _We_ are,
aren't we?" cried the happy Mother, hugging the little ugly dog in
her arms. "And they won't know;--they can't laugh at us. We'll never
let them know we couldn't bear it another minute, will we? The Boy
sha'n't tell on us."

The place where the Boy was visiting was quite a long way from the
railroad station, but they trudged to it gayly, jubilantly. While yet
a good way off they heard the Boy and came upon his trail. The little
dog nearly went into fits with frantic joy at the cap he found in the
path, but the Mother went straight on to meet the little shouting
voice in her ears. Half-way to it she saw the Boy. But wait. Who was
that with him? And that other one, laughing in his beard? If there
had been time to be surprised--but she only brushed them both aside
and caught up the Boy. The Boy--the Boy--the Boy again! She kissed
him all over his freckled, round little face. She kissed his hair and
his hands and his knees.

"Look out; he's wiping them off!" laughed the Patient Aunt. "But you
see he didn't wipe mine off."

"You didn't kiss me. You darsn't. You ain't my mother," panted the
Boy, between the kisses. He could not keep up with them with the back
of his brown little hand.

"But _I_ am, dear. I'm your mother," cooed the Mother, proud of
herself.

After a while she let him go because she pitied him. Then she stood
up, stern and straight, and demanded things of these other two.

"How came you here, Mary? I thought you were going on a visit. Is
this the way you see your publishers, William?"

"I--I couldn't wait," murmured the Impatient Aunt