"But pass it along to Elinory if
only to keep her from feeling lonesome. Let him kiss your hand, child,
he ain't nothing but a country bumpkin that can't talk complimentary to
save his life. Now, go get your bucket of water, sonny, and don't let
in the cat!"

CHAPTER VIII

THE NEST ON PROVIDENCE NOB

"Why, honey-bird; troubles ain't nothing but tight, ugly little buds
the Lord are a-going to flower out for us all, in His good time; maybe
not until in His kingdom. I hold that fact in my heart always," said
Mother Mayberry as she looked down over her glasses at the singer lady
sitting on the top step at her feet.

"I know you do," answered Miss Wingate with a new huskiness rather than
the burr in her voice, which made Mother look at her quickly before she
drew another thread through her needle. "But I was just thinking about
Mrs. Bostick and wishing--oh! I wish we could in some way bring her son
back to her before it is too late. Yesterday afternoon when I started
home she drew me down and asked me if when--when I went out into the
world again I would look for him and help him. Is there nothing that
can be done about it?"

"I reckon not, child," answered Mother Mayberry gently. "If Will was to
come back now it would be just to tear up her heart some more. Last
night, when I was a-settling of her for bed, I began to talk about the
other five children she have buried under God's green grass, each in a
different county, as they moved from place to place. I just collected
them little graves together and tried to fill her heart with 'em, and
when I left she was asleep with a smile on her face I ain't seen for a
year. It's as I say--a buried baby are a trouble bud that's a-going to
flower out in eternity for a woman. I'll find a lone blossom and she a
little bunch. I'm praying in my heart that Will's a stunted plant
that'll bloom late, but in time to be sheathed in with the rest. But
bless your sweet feeling-heart, child, and let's keep the smile on our
faces for her comfort! Woman must bend and not break under a sorrow
load. Take some of them calcanthuses to her when you go down for one of
them foreign junkets and ask her to tell you about them little folks of
her'n. Start her on the little girl that favored the Deacon and cut off
all his forelock with the scissors while he were asleep, so he 'most
made the congregation over at Twin Creeks disgrace theyselves with
laughing at his shorn plight the next Sunday. I'