"It isn't such a long story," began Father Blossom. "You can hear
it all before you have to go to bed. I don't know whether Mother
has told you, but when Bobby was a baby we spent a summer on Apple
Tree Island."

"It's funny I don't seem to remember much about it," remarked
Bobby anxiously.

"Well, old man, not so funny considering that you were about eight
months old," returned his father with a smile. "We rented a rather
pretty cottage very near the spot where Mr. Winthrop, a year or so
later, built his bungalow. Your mother started off for a walk one
day with Bobby, and she walked too far; he was heavy for a baby,
and she should never have tried to carry him. But she did, and she
walked as far as the other end of the island before her strength
gave out. Then what do you suppose she did, Meg?"

Meg looked serious.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe she cried?"

"Mothers don't cry," said Twaddles in fine scorn. "Do they,
Daddy?"

"I cried," confessed Mother Blossom, smiling at the astonished
Twaddles. "I'll never forget how I felt--so far from home and with
a heavy, fretting baby in my arms. I just sat down on a rock and
cried. And Bobby cried with me."