understand why Cassy, who had earned so much money all these years,
should be so poor now, unless it was that she hadn't saved--that she and
George hadn't saved. But, looking at the face before her, and the child
on the bed, she was convinced that the woman was a good woman, that,
singer and dancer as she was, there was no reason why any home should be
closed to her, or any heart should shut its doors before her. She
guessed a reason for this poverty of Cassy Mavor, but it only made her
lay a hand on the little woman's shoulders and look into her eyes.

"Cassy," she said gently, "you was right to come here. There's trials
before you, but for the boy's sake you must bear them. Sophy, George's
mother, had to bear them, and Abel was fond of her, too, in his way.
He's stored up a lot of things to say, and he'll say them; but you'll
keep the boy in your mind, and be patient, won't you, Cassy? You got
rights here, and it's comfortable, and there's plenty, and the air will
cure your lung as it did before. It did all right before, didn't it?"
She handed the bowl of boneset tea. "Take it; it'll do you good, Cassy,"
she added.

Cassy said nothing in reply. She looked at the bed where her boy lay,
she looked at the angular face of the woman, with its brooding
motherliness, at the soft, grey hair, and, with a little gasp of feeling,
she raised the bowl to her lips and drank freely. Then, putting it down,
she said:

"He doesn't mean to have us, Aunt Kate, but I'll try and keep my temper
down. Did he ever laugh in his life?"

"He laughs sometimes--kind o' laughs."