They were clinched tight at
her sides, just the way I've often clinched mine before I went into a
game on which a good deal depended. But the next minute her arms were
round my neck in the old way, and she was holding me so tight I could
hardly breathe--and I don't believe she could breathe much, either,
for I was giving her back every bit of that, with some to spare. I
have an idea she was saying, inside, "I won't--I _won't"_--just
the same way I was. And she didn't--and I didn't--though _not to_
certainly pulled harder than anything I ever _didn't_ do in my
life!
She didn't keep me long. Just that one great hug, and something else
that goes with it, and then _what_ do you think she said? If I'd
had a hat on I'd have taken it off to her at that moment. She looked
up into my face, and showed me hers, all smiling, and not a tear in
her eyes, and said:
_"Jacky, you're a brick!"_
And then I just broke out into a great laugh of relief, and I shouted:
_"Mother, you're a whole brickyard!"_
And we went downstairs carrying my luggage between us, and the worst
was over, and the thing I dreaded hadn't happened.
Perhaps you think she ought to have prayed over me, and given me a
Bible, and a lot of good motherly advice.
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