should say not--but she did do it for calls to her family, in the
woods or in the house when there were no guests about; and she often
whistled softly over her work. Perhaps you don't think that's a
womanly thing to do--but it's better, from my point of view--it's
sporting. For Mother's got something of a temper--you'd know anybody
with so much grit must have a temper--and lots of times when she
wanted to be angry, suddenly she'd break out in a regular rag-time
whistle, and then laugh, and everything would be all right again.

She and I had a special call of our own, one she'd made up. I'd know
it anywhere in the world. It was a pretty thing--just a bar or two,
but rather unusual. Well, as I came in the door that night she looked
round and gave that whistle. I thought for a minute I was gone--but I
bucked up all right and answered it. And that--yes, it was actually
the only minute she gave me that evening that tried my pluck. She
began to talk in the nicest, most matter-of-fact way in the world. Not
too awfully cheerful, you know, overdoing it, but just as if I'd come
home for the summer vacation, and there was all the time anybody
needed to talk things over. And she kept that up. The only thing that
marked the difference was that her hand was in mine all the time we
sat there--but that was nothing new, either, and didn't break me up at
all. Maybe you could imagine how grateful I was to her. Good
Lord--what if I'd had to face a mother like Hoofy Gilbert's! What a
chance to put a fellow on the grill and keep him there--his last
evening at home! No wonder Hoofy had dreaded to go.

She kissed me good-night, when we broke up, in just exactly the old
way--no extras. Oh, maybe I did put a little more muscle than usual
into the hug I gave her--Mother's great to hug, just exactly like a
girl--but that was all. We parted with a laugh. Afterward, when I was