There isn't a bit of need--Mary and Betty can manage quite
well. You fatigue yourself too much!" And to the old lady's denials
John's wife returned, with a tinge of sharpness: "But, really, mother,
I'd rather you didn't. It frets the nurses and--forgive me-but you know
you
will forget and talk to him in 'baby-talk'!"
The days came and the days went, and Nancy Wetherby stayed more and more
closely to her rooms. She begged one day for the mending-basket, but her
daughter-in-law laughed and kissed her.
"Tut, tut, mother, dear!" she remonstrated. "As if I'd have you wearing
your eyes and fingers out mending a paltry pair of socks!"
"Then I--I'll knit new ones!" cried the old lady, with sudden
inspiration.
"Knit new ones--stockings!" laughed Margaret Wetherby. "Why, dearie,
they never in this world would wear them--and if they would, I couldn't
let you do it," she added gently, as she noted the swift clouding of the
eager face. "Such tiresome work!"
Again the old eyes filled with tears; and yet--John's wife was kind, so
very kind!
It was a cheerless, gray December morning that John Wetherby came into
his mother's room and found a sob-shaken little figure in the depths of
the sumptuous, satin-damask chair.
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