"Tess, it's a sacrilege," he protested sharply, "like wadding up the petals of a rose or the leaves of a fern. Keep the curls, won't you?"
Below, from the pear orchard, came a joyous shout, the free, careless, laughing response to the girl's call.
"I'm coming mummy," cried a child's voice.
Tess leaned forward, the better to watch the small boy lightly climb the terrace. Her face evinced the joy which she found in her baby, and in the quiet, happy life under Professor Young's care. She held out her hand to the little one. He danced to her side and she bent and kissed him.
"Mummy's boy, oh, mummy's little boy! Didn't I tell you, darling, not to soil your blouse? Uncle Deforrest'll be here soon."
"Boy rolled down the hill," pouted the child. "Boy loves to roll down the hill, mummy."
His mother kissed him again, diverted by his words, which recalled her own girlhood frolics. Hadn't she many times tumbled the length of the lane, while Daddy Skinner had stood and watched her indulgently? Her arms about the boy, she allowed her eyes to rest for a moment on the hut at the lake side. Tessibel loved the shanty and always would love it, but more did she love the home in which she now lived. Her fingers played idly with the child's dark curls. All that Deforrest Young had done for her in the past years swept before her mind like a panorama.
How safe he'd made it for Andy! How the little man had improved! How delightful their studies together! They constantly looked forward to that day when they should be able to return to their friend some of the generosity he had shown them.
Now he was coming home after an absence of many weeks, and the three were awaiting his arrival.
"Run up to Andy, darling," Tess said to the child, "and let him wash your face and hands, and put on another blouse, my pet. Oh, there 're grass stains on this one, too."
A trembling, rosy mouth turned up to the speaker. She kissed it quickly and passionately.
"Never mind, honey, just run along. Mummy doesn't care.... There, kiss me again."
Two loving arms went quickly around the mother's neck.
"Boy loves his pretty mummy," was whispered in her ear.
"And mummy loves her pretty boy. There! Run along to Andy. I want to gather some flowers for Uncle Forrie."
Andy was studying at a table, when the door opened and the dark-faced boy popped into the room.
"Mummy says wash Boy's face and put on clean blouse," said he. "Please, Andy. I forgot to say 'please'!"