Don't you think it! The
prayers had been spread over twenty-two years of my life, and the
Bible was all marked up with her markings. As for the good
advice--well--if she hadn't done her level best, long before that, to
teach me to keep clean, and think straight, and "hit the line
hard"--it was too late to begin then. But she didn't have to begin
then, because the thing was done, as well as any mother on earth could
do it. And if you think that little thumb-marked book wasn't in my bag
at that minute, you don't think right, that's all.
Dad said a few fatherly things to me before I went, like the all-round
trump he is, and I was glad to have him. I could stand that all right.
But I couldn't have borne anything from Mother--not then--and she knew
it. How did she know? That's what gets me. But she did, the way she's
always seemed to know things without being told. She's that sort, you
see.
They all went down to the station with me, in the seven-passenger,
with Dad driving. We didn't talk much on the way. I tried not to see
the familiar old streets. I hadn't told anybody what train I was going
on, but some of my old friends found out and came down just the same,
and were there in a bunch to send me off.
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