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"How elegant! And 'little
snippet'--when I'm over five-feet-eleven?"
"I said it!" she snapped, departing. "I don't see how Lucy can stand
you!"
"You'd make an amiable stepmother-in-law!" he called after her. "I'll
be careful about proposing to Lucy!"
These were but roughish spots in a summer that glided by evenly and
quickly enough, for the most part, and, at the end, seemed to fly. On
the last night before George went back to be a Junior, his mother
asked him confidently if it had not been a happy summer.
He hadn't thought about it, he answered. "Oh,' I suppose so. Why?"
"I just thought it would be: nice to hear you say so," she said,
smiling. "I mean, it's pleasant for people of my age to know that
people of your age realize that they're happy."
"People of your age!" he repeated. "You know you don't look precisely
like an old woman, mother. Not precisely!"
"No," she said. "And I suppose I feel about as young as you do,
inside, but it won't be many years before I must begin to look old.
It does come!" She sighed, still smiling.


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