grate. But she wouldn't send him word; no, no, she would surprise him,
and add to his pleasure.

And the dear old soul, in her fine simplicity, did not think into what
this would mean, nor of the difference that had grown up with the years,
in manner of life, between her son and herself. He was a cultured
gentleman, with his well-appointed city home, and the circle of friends
that had grown up about him. And she was a simple uncultured country
woman with a broad provincial twist on her tongue. But she was
blissfully unconscious of this. She would go and live with her Laddie.
It would be so delightful for them both.

And so she went. It was her first train journey, and quite a time of it
she had finding the house. But at last she stands looking up at the
house. "Ugh! does my Laddie live here! in this great mansion?" But there
was the name on the door-plate. There was no mistaking that. And so she
rang the bell. "Is the doctor in?" She could hardly get the word
"doctor" out. She had never called him that before, just Laddie. But now
she must say it. "Is the doctor in?" And the word almost stuck in her
throat as she thought to herself, "This poor man opening the door
doesn't know that the 'doctor' really belongs to _me_."

But in a hard voice the servant said that it was past the hours. She
couldn't see the doctor.

"Ah! bat," she said, quite taken by surprise at being held there, "I
_must_ see him."

"But, I tell you, it's quite too late to see him to-day."