glance at the rest,—a glance at once guilty, and defiant of the smile she expected to see. But the smile was not there.
The only smile to be seen was upon the face of the little country woman who regarded them all with innocent reverence, and was in such bright good spirits that she did not even notice their silence.
"I've had a long journey," she said, "an' I've been pretty flustered, through not bein' used to travel. I don't know how I'd have bore up at first—bein' flustered so—if it hadn't have been for everybody bein' so good to me. I'd mention my son when I had to ask anything, an' they'd smile as good-natured as could be, an' tell me in a minute."
The multiplicity of new dishes and rare wine bewildered her, but she sat through the repast simple and unabashed.
"There's some as wouldn't like me bein' so ignorant," she said, "but Jem doesn't mind."
The subject of her son's virtues was an inexhaustible one. The silence about her only gave her courage and eloquence. His childish strength and precocity, his bravery, his good temper, his generous ways, were her themes.
"He come to me in time of trouble," she said, "an' he made it lighter—an' he's been makin' it lighter ever since. Who'd have thought that a simple body like me would ever have a grand home like this—and it earned and bought by my own son? I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen," looking round with happy tears. "I didn't go to do it, an' there's no reason for it, except me bein' took a little by surprise through not bein' exactly prepared for such a grand place an' gentlefolk's comp'ny, as is so good an' understands a mother's feelin's."
