nd
money to her son--her son whom she had not seen in twenty years--her son
for whom her eyes and her heart ached every hour of every day. She
sewed. She made hats. What wonder if the scarlet of the hat in the
window had faded somewhat--and what wonder if the scarlet of the letter
on her bosom had faded even more?... Because it had all been for him,
her son, her first-born. And he must never, never know! He must have his
chance in the world. Though the woman should fail, at least the man must
not.

So it was thus that, heavy-hearted enough now, she brought him to see
the place where his mother had lived these twenty years. And now he knew
about it, must know. It took all her courage--the last drop of her
splendid, unflinching woman-courage.

"Come in, Don," she said. "Welcome home!"

He looked about him, still frowning with what was on his mind.

"Home?" said he.

"Don!" she said softly.

"Tough work, wasn't it, waiting for me to get through, dear Mom? For I
know you did wait. I know you meant that some day----"

He laid a hand on her head, his lips trembling. He knew he was
postponing, evading. She shrank back in some conviction also of
postponing, evading. All her soul was honest. She hated deceit--though
all her life she had been engaged in this glorious deceit which now was
about to end.

"Tough sometimes, yes," she said, smiling up at him. "But don't you like
it?"

"If my dad had lived," said Don, "or if he had had very much to give
either of us, you'd never have lived this way at all. Too bad he died,
wasn't it, Mom?"

He smiled also, or tried to smile, yet restraint was upon them both,
neither dared ask why.

She caught up his hand suddenly, spying upon it a strand of blood.

"Don!" she exclaimed, wiping it with her kerchief, "you are hurt!"

He laughed at this. "Surely you don't know much of boxing or football,"
said he.

"You ought not to fight," she reproved him. "On your first day--and all
the town saw it, Don! You and I--we ought not to fight. What--on the
first day I've seen you in all these years--the first day you're out of
college--the first day I could ever in all my life claim you for my very
own? I believe I _would_ have claimed you--yes, I do! But you
came--when you knew you had a mother, why you came to her, didn't you,
Don? Even me. But you mustn't fight."

"Why?" He turned upon her quickly, his voice suddenly harsh, his eyes
narrowing under drawn brows. "Why shouldn't I fight?