of him. He died a lonely, a bitter man. I was saved the
bitterness, at least, and I had you."

Another pause. Then:

"Brace, I know it will seem foolish, but perhaps when you are far away
it won't seem so foolish. I want to tell you, dear, that I wish I had
never spoken a harsh word to you. Life hurts so at the best--many
women are feeling this as I do, dear. Once--you must humour me,
Brace--once, after I punished you, I regretted it. I asked your pardon
and you said, 'Don't mention it, Mother, I understood.' I want you to
say it now, son; it will be such a comfort."

"I believe, God hearing me, Mother, that I have understood; have
always known that you were the best and dearest of mothers."

"Thank you."

"And now, Mother, there is one thing more. We may not have another
opportunity for a real house-cleaning. It's about King's Forest."

Helen started, but she stiffened at once.

"Yes, Brace," she said simply.

"There is a girl, a woman there. Such things as relate to that woman
and me often happen to men and women. It's what one does to the
happening that counts. I realize that my life has had much in it; but
much was left out of it. Much that is common stuff to most fellows;
they take it in portions. It came all at once to me, but she was
strong enough, fine enough to help me; not drift with me. I wanted you
to know."

"Thank you. I understand. Is there anything you would like to have me
do?"

"No. Nothing, Mother. It is all right; it had to happen, I suppose. I
wanted you to know. We did not dishonour the thing--she's quite
wonderful." A pause; then:

"She has a brute of a husband--I hope I freed her of him, in a way;
I'm glad to think of that now. She has a child, a little girl, and
there were some dead children."

This detail seemed tragically necessary to tell; it seemed to explain
all else.

"And now, Mother, I must go around to Kathryn's. Do not sit up, dear.
I'll come to your room."

"Very well." Then Helen stood up and laid her hands on his shoulders.
"Some sons and daughters," she said slowly, convincingly, "learn how
to bear life, in part, from their parents--I have learned from my
son."

Then she raised her hands and drew his head down to hers and rested
her cheek against his. Without a word more Northrup left the house.
He was deeply moved by the scene through which he and his mother
had just passed. It had consisted of small and trivial things; of
overwhelmingly big things, but it h