In the same forlorn, stunned way that he had come down, Teddy
climbed the stairs again, feeling as if his feet were shod with
lead, or the terrible weight at his heart was too heavy to be
carried a step farther.

He pushed open the door of his mother's room, but never looked up or
spoke, although he knew she stood close behind it. But, indeed,
there could have been no time, had the boy wished to speak; for
already his mother's arms were around his neck, and her head upon
his stout shoulder, while the passionate tears fell like rain upon
his hands.

"Ochone, ochone! An' it's me own an' only b'y yees are, an' must be,
Teddy darlint; an' it's mesilf that 'ud be worse nor a haythin to
turn yees inter the strate, so long as it's a roof an' a bit I have
left for yees. An' sure, if ye've gone astray, it's the heart uv
yees that's bruck wid frettin' afther it; an' there's a many as has
done wuss, and niver a hape it harmed 'em here nor hereafter. An',
if Michael wor here the day, it's himself 'ud say to pass it by; an'
it wor little I should be plazin' his blissid sowl to turn yees off
for one fault. Kiss yer owld mother, honey, an' be her own b'y
again!"

"Thank you, mother," said Teddy, still in the strange, low voice he
had used before; and, putting his arms round her neck, he met and
returned her hearty kiss, and then, without another word, went and
shut himself into the little loft he called his own, and was seen no
more that night.