"You are crying, mother, and the ship here at last!" said Grahamie's
voice at her shoulder. "Crying when we are all so happy."
"Mother is a little upset, dear. You must try to forget you ever
saw her eyes wet."
"I'll forget," said the boy with a finality she could not question.
"The ship is so full of good things, mother. We'll think of that,
and--forget, won't we?" he added.
"_All_ the things in the ship are not good, Grahamie, boy. If they
were, mother would not cry," she said.
"I see," he said, but stole from her side with a strained, puzzled
look in his young eyes.
Outside he was met by a laughing, joyous dozen of men. One swung
the child to his shoulder, shouting, "Hurrah, little 'North-West'!
Hurrah! we are all coming to pay tribute to your mother. Look at
the dainties we have got for her from the ship!"
"I'm afraid you can't see mother just now," said the boy. "Mother
is a little upset. You see, the ship is so full of good things--but
then, _all_ the things in the ship are not good. If they were,
mother would not cry." In the last words he unconsciously imitated
his mother's voice.
A profound silence enveloped the men. Then one spoke. "She'll never
have cause to cry about anything _I_ do, boys.
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