AIVGELE8
 
 The Little Mother 
 Who,Sit;sAtHome 
 
 Gdited ByThe 
 
 With Colored Trontispiece by 
 
 JMavy La JctraRu^ell 
 
 Tleu; \/ork 
 C. P Dutton &. Company 
 
 . Or
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1915 
 
 BY 
 E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 Clx Itnickcrbocfecr Qrttt, "Hew
 
 EDITOR'S PREFACE 
 
 JT is only fair to admit that the task of 
 editing this little book has been some- 
 thing of a sinecure. Such as it was, it 
 mainly involved the omission of a few 
 passages of purely private interest and a 
 certain amount of repetition the empha- 
 sized injunctions of a loving and anxious 
 mother. The little contribution, in the 
 way of foreword, by the writer's son, gives 
 all the reason necessary for publication. 
 Further editorial comment would, I feel, 
 be redundant. 
 
 HELEN E BARCYNSKA. 
 
 Hi 
 
 2125690
 
 Foreword 
 
 HPHESE letters were written by my 
 beloved Mother between my fifth 
 and twenty-fifth birthdays. As they 
 were all dated I am able to arrange the 
 unposted ones, not meant for my youth- 
 ful eyes, in chronological order with those 
 received by me as child, boy, and man, 
 though many of the latter, I regret to 
 say, were inadvertently destroyed. 
 
 I make no apology for their publica- 
 tion. Their anonymity protects the 
 identity of the writer, which is all she 
 would have stipulated. As a revelation 
 of affection as rare as it is pure they will 
 hardly fail to appeal to those of the 
 reading public who can appreciate the 
 wonder of the mother-love.
 
 vi FOREWORD 
 
 But to those trained beings of captious 
 taste whose occupation it is to read a 
 book in cold blood, to praise or blame 
 in cold print, I would respectfully point 
 out that they criticise not the living 
 but the dead. 
 
 HER SON.
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ON SLEEPING ALONE i 
 
 ON MARRYING AGAIN 10 
 ON SACRIFICE AND EDUCATION . . .17 
 
 ON THE LAST DAYS ..... 30 
 
 ON UTTER SOLITUDE 38 
 
 ON WORK, PLAY, AND DECENT LANGUAGE . 40 
 
 ON TAKING THE ROUGH WITH THE SMOOTH . 46 
 
 ON SYMPATHY AND MARTYRDOM ... 50 
 
 ON COMING HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS . . 52 
 
 ON A PUBLIC SCHOOL 56 
 
 ON A VOICE 66 
 
 ON CERTAIN SUBJECTS THAT PUZZLE YOUTH . 68 
 ON THE JOYS OF WANDERING . . -77 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF AN OLD DOG ... 82 
 
 ON A DECLARATION OF FAITH ... 86 
 
 ON GOING WITHOUT 99 
 
 ON DREAMS 106 
 
 ON A FIRST TERM AT COLLEGE . . .112 
 
 ON A TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY . . . 122 
 
 vii
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGB 
 
 ON SENTENCE OF DEATH . . . .128 
 ON A FIRST EFFORT IN LITERATURE . . 140 
 
 ON SUCCESS 145 
 
 ON LONDON AND ITS DANGERS . . .151 
 
 ON A DARK HOUR 161 
 
 ON THE DESIRE FOR DISTRACTION . . 163 
 ON AN APPOINTMENT TO A RESPONSIBLE POST 164 
 ON THE RENDING OF THE VEIL . . .171 
 
 ON A PHOTOGRAPH 173 
 
 ON AN ENGAGEMENT 174 
 
 ON A DISAPPOINTMENT . . . .176 
 ON AN INTERVIEW . . . 182 
 
 ON THE LAST GIFT 189 
 
 NUNC DIMITTIS 193
 
 The Little Mother 
 
 Who Sits at Home
 
 The Little Mother Who 
 Sits at Home 
 
 On Sleeping Alone 
 (Unposted) 
 
 DABY-MAN dear: 
 * ' I do not know whether you will 
 ever see this letter. I can foresee no 
 circumstances in which I could show it 
 to you, certainly not until you are a 
 grown man and have slept with a wife 
 in the crook of your arm. All the same 
 I must write it because I am very very 
 lonely tonight, my son, although you are 
 no farther away from me than the next 
 room where you are lying fast asleep. 
 
 You see, it is the first night you have 
 slept alone. My own big bed is empty,
 
 2 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 and I am dreading getting into it. 
 That is why I am sitting up so late. 
 
 Every night for the past five years I 
 have undressed by the glimmer of the 
 night-light and crept furtively between 
 the sheets so as not to disturb my pink- 
 pyjamed baby lying right across the 
 bed. Then when I've made quite sure 
 I haven't disturbed you I have edged 
 my hand towards you and taken your 
 chubby little fist in mine, and lain listen- 
 ing to your soft and even breathing for 
 blissful hour upon hour, speculating 
 the while about your future until I, 
 too, have fallen asleep at last. 
 
 Sweetheart, you mean so very extra 
 much to me, and that is why tonight is 
 such a specially sad night for me. It 
 marks a new kind of loneliness. I have 
 a dear little boy now, but not a baby. 
 
 Son, when your father died with such 
 dreadful suddenness you were just four 
 months old. You did not fill my life
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 3 
 
 then. I was wrapped up in my Beloved. 
 I only thought of you as a dear little 
 human toy we were rather clever to have 
 made. That first night in the desola- 
 tion of my loss I actually did not re- 
 member I had a baby. I had lost my 
 husband. I think my heart broke and 
 ever since I seem merely to have held 
 the pieces together in order to go on 
 living for your sake. For me there was 
 no tender God to touch my misery with 
 healing hands. My God had died too. 
 
 Someone insisted on my going to bed 
 at last. Someone undressed me I think 
 and brushed my hair and smoothed my 
 pillow. But when the door was shut 
 on me I sat up, suddenly realizing how 
 awfully funny it was to be left alone in 
 the world. And I laughed and laughed. 
 I heard the house ringing with my 
 laughter and it made me laugh the more. 
 Someone came into the room again, 
 carrying a little bundle in her arms. The
 
 4 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 cackle died in my throat. Had / been 
 laughing? I held out my arms, and you 
 were put into them. 
 
 I sat holding you for hours. 
 
 Then I knew that I had someone to 
 live for, after all, the nearest, dearest 
 thing next to your father your father's 
 own child. So I went to sleep, holding 
 you to me, and ever since, until tonight 
 ... So you understand, or you will 
 one day, why I am lonely now. 
 
 I shall soon get used to it, and proba- 
 bly sleep much better because I have 
 the bed to myself. There is always a 
 commonplace side to these things. You 
 are a greedy little person asleep. Cer- 
 tainly you monopolized more than your 
 fair share of space. On cold nights I 
 was often distinctly chilly because you 
 had a way of gradually rolling yourself 
 into a ball like a hedgehog, with all 
 the clothes round you. Still, I didn't 
 mind being cold. You made up for it
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 5 
 
 in the mornings when you snuggled so 
 close, so close. 
 
 In after years you will wonder how 
 our separation came about. Well, it 
 came with your first suit made by a 
 man-tailor. Before today you always 
 wore an overall and little short knickers. 
 Today, you have discarded overalls and 
 baby garments for a boy's flannel suit. 
 That made you realize you were five and 
 getting sixish. You had been surveying 
 yourself for a little while when you turned 
 to me and said thoughtfully : 
 
 "Mummy, men wear trousers like 
 these, don't they?" 
 
 "Yes, darling." 
 
 "Am I a man?" 
 
 "A little man." 
 
 You pondered this. "If I'm a little 
 man can't I have a little bedroom all 
 to myself?" 
 
 Then I guessed the time had come. 
 But I had to make sure of it. Really,
 
 6 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 you axe awfully afraid of the dark, my 
 son! 
 
 "Little men who sleep alone have to 
 do without night-lights. They're not 
 afraid of the dark," I said. 
 
 "I don't want a night-light. If I'm 
 frightened I can come into your bed, 
 can't I?" 
 
 I didn't argue after that, dear. I 
 made the change. My dressing-room 
 is now a boy's bedroom, and my boy 
 sleeps there. 
 
 Of course the soft motherly part of me 
 hoped that you might feel the least little 
 bit afraid, and come creeping back to my 
 arms. But you are so proud of having 
 a room to yourself that the dark must 
 have lost its terrors. You went to bed 
 at seven. I heard your prayers, tucked 
 you up, and kissed you. It's past twelve 
 now. You must have been asleep a 
 long time. I must have a peep at you. 
 I shall take this in with me and go on
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 7 
 
 writing. I haven't the nerve to go to 
 bed. I don't want to cry myself to 
 sleep. 
 
 There ! the candle is shaded from your 
 eyes and I shan't disturb you. You are 
 all rosy in your sleep. Your hair is 
 rumpled and standing up on end. Oh! 
 why can't I keep you my baby always? 
 
 Son of mine, I have been looking at 
 you for a long time, hours, I think, 
 learning your little, little face by heart. 
 I think I know why mothers are so 
 tender to their grown-up sons. In the 
 man grown they see the baby that used 
 to be. They come back these motherly 
 memories at a chance touch of a hand, 
 a look in the eyes, in the giving of 
 confidence. You need us, dear, even 
 when you are men; until She comes, 
 she who is to mean even more to you 
 than the mother who bore you, because 
 she is to be the mother of your sons. 
 
 Darling, you are still a baby in spite
 
 8 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 of your little trousers and your room 
 to yourself. What are you going to be 
 in the years to come? God grant you 
 may grow like your father! How you 
 have worshipped him, baby ! How often 
 I talk of him to you, so that the image of 
 him in your mind may be a real thing, 
 and grow as you grow. 
 
 What are you going to be later on? 
 What am I going to be to you? I'm not 
 so old twenty-five. Am I old enough, 
 wise enough, to stand to you for mother, 
 father, and big pal ? It's easy enough to 
 be a mother; it's easy enough to be a 
 pal. But a father? 
 
 Oh, my husband, if you were only here ! 
 
 Baby-man dear, I have just been say- 
 ing my prayer on my knees by your 
 side. I have said it every night of 
 my life since you and I were left, and 
 you shall know what it is. Were you 
 a man I don't think you would smile 
 at it. I hope not. It is only this :
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 9 
 
 "Kind God of the fatherless and the 
 widowed, bless and take care of my 
 little son. Give him a happy, healthy 
 childhood and boyhood, and make him 
 grow into a good man. Amen. " 
 
 That's all I ask, darling, but it's 
 everything. 
 
 The sky is growing grey. The creepy 
 shadows that take bogey-shapes have 
 stolen back into the walls until night- 
 time comes again. The candle has 
 burnt itself out. 
 
 Dawn! I must go back to my own 
 room. In an hour or two you'll be 
 awake and running in: 
 
 "How did you sleep, mummy?" 
 
 "Beautifully, darling!" 
 
 You'll forgive me for a fib like that in 
 years and years to come, won't you? 
 I shall have to tell you heaps of them, 
 you know.
 
 On Marrying Again 
 (Unposted) 
 
 INSUBORDINATE Child! 
 
 I have had to pretend severe dis- 
 pleasure and send you to bed while the 
 birds are still singing and the bees are 
 yet busy in the garden. 
 
 And you have marched off like a man, 
 with a stiff upper lip and very bright 
 eyes. There were such a lot of things 
 you wanted to do. I hated sending you 
 upstairs. You wanted to water your 
 garden, and of course it will never occur 
 to you that I have done it for you. I 
 couldn't let my boy's flowers go to bed 
 parched with thirst just because he went 
 to bed naughty! You wanted me to 
 bowl to you. You wanted a slice of the 
 jam-tart cook made this morning for 
 10
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER n 
 
 your supper. All these things you 
 have had to forego. If you cry un- 
 der the bedclothes I shan't know it, 
 unless . . . 
 
 I have been eavesdropping outside 
 your door. You are neither sobbing 
 nor asleep. You are practising in a 
 muted key on the flute Captain - 
 gave you. And Jane has just come out 
 of your room with a guilty look and a 
 plate. It is quite empty, but it shows 
 a jammy smear. I haven't repriman- 
 ded her. I wanted you to have that 
 tart, and so long as I have not been 
 weak enough to give it to you, you 
 may still have a wholesome dread of 
 my authority when it has to be exer- 
 cised. So a fig for your mother and 
 her punishment. You don't very much 
 care. Oh, Boy ! You are no longer my 
 baby! 
 
 Three times this afternoon I had to 
 stop you from speaking to the boys,
 
 12 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 and not only speaking but inviting 
 them over into your own domain. It 
 isn't because they are common and 
 vulgar that I object to them. They are 
 
 undesirable little rips. Captain 
 
 told me so. But you, when I had to be 
 angry with you for disobeying, answered 
 me back. And you selected a stinging 
 little whip of words : 
 
 "But why shouldn't I?" 
 
 "Because they're not nice boys for 
 you to know. " 
 
 "How do you know? You're only a 
 woman!" 
 
 That is your first conscious question- 
 ing of my right to be your superior 
 officer, and it raises a very vexed ques- 
 tion. Ought I to marry again? For 
 your sake, Son. 
 
 You see, now, while I'm still rather 
 nice to look at, I have the chance. 
 "He" is very partial to you and thinks 
 you " a jolly little beggar," though get-
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 13 
 
 ting a bit out of hand, and that you 
 need a man over you. 
 
 Did you voice that need today? I 
 think so. 
 
 Now let me put it all down in black 
 and white: it helps me to think. 
 
 If I marry this particular man I am 
 assured you like him to start with. He 
 is a pal of yours. On the other hand, 
 although I am still a young woman I 
 could not give him all that a young 
 woman should give her husband. I 
 cannot heal my heart as so many women 
 do by again making myself the property 
 of a man. I was your father's. I am 
 jealous of myself because of that. All 
 the living, loving part of me that brought 
 you into being, is buried with him. I 
 guard the sacred, passionate memory 
 of our last embrace. But those are my 
 personal feelings. I must put you first. 
 You are his child. 
 
 If I marry, your future would be
 
 14 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 assured without any pinching or con- 
 triving on my part. You would be a 
 rich man's step-son. If I don't marry, 
 I have got to part with you, to put you 
 amongst men, little men of your own 
 age, and big men to control you. 
 
 Women are not generally successful 
 in training boys or dogs. We can't help 
 pampering the pet, with the result that 
 our pet is a pest to other people. 
 
 So it comes to this : I shrink from the 
 thought of marriage, and I can't bear 
 the idea of sending you away. How am 
 I to reconcile these opposite inclinations? 
 
 I shall have to ask you. 
 
 I have asked you. 
 
 I put it in the most delicate, tentative, 
 round-about fashion ; but you in deepest 
 innocence went plumb-bang to the heart 
 of things. 
 
 "Darling," I said, "which would you 
 rather do, go and live with a lot of little 
 boys in a school and learn lessons and
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 15 
 
 play games, or have the very nicest man 
 you know to come and live with you?" 
 
 We both thought of the same person : 
 the name was unnecessary. You asked : 
 
 "Would he be with us all day?" 
 
 "All day." 
 
 "Jolly! Where would he sleep?" 
 
 I grew hot and cold and dumb. 
 
 "I shouldn't want him at night, " you 
 said, "would you? I'd rather be with 
 boys. How soon can I go, mum?" 
 
 "I've got to find the school first, 
 darling." 
 
 Already my mind is full of prospec- 
 tuses, and matrons, and drains. Will 
 they always air your linen? Will they 
 see that you put your sweater on when 
 you come in hot from games? Will they 
 care very much whether you are well or 
 ill?, 
 
 No; they will be normally consti- 
 tuted, healthy-minded people in charge 
 of a lot of quite ordinary small boys
 
 i6 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 wonderful only to their little mothers 
 who sit at home. They will take just 
 ordinary sensible care of you because 
 it is to their interest to do so. 
 
 It is therefore quite settled. I am not 
 going to marry again. 
 
 Oh, dear, dead husband of mine, 
 where are you? How can I live with- 
 out you through the long years that 
 stretch away before me? Sometimes 
 my spirit faints. Life seems so long! 
 Never in this world to hear your voice 
 again, never to feel the touch of your 
 hand! 
 
 Now I must write for those pros- 
 pectuses. 
 
 Preparatory for Harrow or Winches- 
 ter, I think.
 
 On Sacrifice and Education 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 I\/l Y growing Son: 
 
 * I have found your school. I 
 
 think I have inspected almost every 
 preparatory school in the country before 
 I could bring myself to decide definitely. 
 But when I came upon this one I knew 
 I should choose it. It is just what I 
 have had in my mind, and never thought 
 to find. It is a long, low, rambling old- 
 fashioned country house, sensibly mod- 
 ernized (but not spoilt), set in playing 
 fields that surround its own private 
 gardens. Inside, darling, it is just 
 what a little boy who leaves home for 
 the first time should go to. Not a 
 barrack, built only for giving lessons in, 
 but a home. I saw the play-rooms, the 
 17
 
 1 8 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 big dormitories, the bedrooms. They 
 have an awfully jolly plan: after you've 
 been there two terms, and provided 
 you've behaved well, you're promoted 
 to a bedroom which you share with one 
 or two pals. In it you have your own 
 private belongings. You are allowed 
 a reasonable time for talking after going 
 to bed, and one of you is made respon- 
 sible for keeping order and the putting 
 out of the light. If you fail in either of 
 these duties you get a bad mark, and 
 seven bad marks send you back to the 
 dormitory! I think it's a good plan. 
 It teaches you to be trustworthy; 
 and it also means that the new boys 
 have the dormitories to themselves. 
 It will be a relief to me to think that 
 on your first night you will be with 
 your own sort, lonely little boys sepa- 
 rated from their mothers for the first 
 time and longing to have a quiet howl 
 under the bedclothes. When your sec-
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 19 
 
 ond term begins, the sense of loneliness 
 will be forgotten. You will all be in 
 good spirits, interested in each other's 
 holiday experiences, but ready for an- 
 other three months of work and play. 
 
 Then, think of it, my son! there's a 
 clubroom ! It has proper padded leather 
 chairs, a great leather sofa, a small 
 billiard table, round tables for games, 
 and a table devoted to papers. On it 
 I saw daily papers, Punch, The Field, 
 The Badminton, Country Life, The United 
 Service Magazine. In this room you're 
 supposed to observe club conventions, 
 not to disturb others, to keep tolerably 
 quiet, to behave in short like men. 
 There are heaps more things that you'll 
 love, the swimming bath (real sea 
 water) racket courts, games' room, the 
 theatre. This particular school seems 
 to me to cover the whole territory of a 
 boy's desires and requirements as far 
 as a school can.
 
 20 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 The headmaster is a dear, with a 
 deep knowledge of boys. He doesn't 
 regard you first and foremost as a young 
 animal to be licked into shape. You'll 
 get your share of lickings, I daresay, 
 but he recognizes that there are other 
 ways of shaping you. He has a nice 
 wife, too, a domesticated, motherly 
 woman. They have no children of 
 their own, and I rather think they have 
 got to regard their boys as their own 
 large family. 
 
 I am bubbling with joy inside at 
 having found such a model of a school 
 for you. Selection in this matter is so 
 vital. The preparatory school should, 
 I think, be chosen with even more care 
 than the public school. The prepara- 
 tory school moulds you. The public 
 school sets that mould; and the sub- 
 sequent university career is what the 
 sculptor's finishing touches are to the 
 statue he has been at work on. I want
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 21 
 
 you to have the pick of the first two, so 
 that the third may make you that best 
 of all beings, an English gentleman. 
 I do not mean that you could not be a 
 gentleman without educational advan- 
 tages. You are, thank God, a gentleman 
 by birth, and even if you were not, you 
 could easily be a gentleman by nature. 
 But just as it is my ambition that you 
 should have the benefit of the three 
 gradational stages, so it is my prayer 
 that you may profit by them all. I 
 want my son to be a gentleman by 
 birth, by nature, and by education. 
 That is almost perfection, dearest. 
 
 I take the subject of your education 
 very seriously. Before you were born, 
 your father used to discuss it with me, 
 assuming that you would be a boy. 
 There must have been a purpose in that, 
 since I was to be robbed of him so soon. 
 Your father was a literary man, a 
 student. His name is known only to the
 
 22 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 few. All his life he was handicapped by 
 the disadvantage of not being a univer- 
 sity man. He told me that if ever we 
 had a son he would stint himself to the 
 uttermost to give him that advantage. 
 He showed me the necessity of it. 
 
 It comes to this: public-school and 
 university men belong as it were to a 
 select clan. Even those who were " up " 
 in different years are united by the bond 
 of common associations. If you are a 
 member of this fraternity, later when 
 you enter a profession you find your- 
 self among men of your own set and 
 your own mental attitude, if not of your 
 own college. You have friends or po- 
 tential friends all around you. The 
 earning of your living becomes a pleas- 
 ant occupation, not a hard struggle for 
 existence, as the lower middle classes 
 know it. In all the better walks of life, 
 the man with the university training, 
 and especially one with a good degree, is
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 23 
 
 given preference. Ways are opened for 
 him; berths await him. And this is as 
 it should be. He is the hall-marked 
 article. 
 
 There are plenty of men who succeed 
 in life without social and educational 
 advantages. But though they pride 
 themselves on . possessing heroic quali- 
 ties application, hard work, economy, 
 determination the truth is that to 
 attain success they have had to live 
 unlovely lives and follow questionable 
 courses. They may have sweated them- 
 selves; they certainly have "sweated" 
 others. They have been hard, ignoble, 
 often dishonest "without the law." 
 Such men usually scorn the varsity 
 graduate; often enough they hate a 
 gentleman. But it is a cheap kind of 
 scorn, and the hatred is really envy. 
 How much better is the culture of the 
 gentleman who keeps his hands and his 
 honour clean.
 
 24 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 But it is going to cost an awful lot of 
 money, beloved, and I haven't got your 
 father or anyone to help me. You are 
 going to absorb all your mother's funds 
 for years and years to come. You'll be 
 rich at school, but poor in the holidays. 
 We can't have it both ways, darling. / 
 don't a bit mind being poor, so long as 
 you are never ashamed of my poverty. 
 You won't when you're older. But 
 boys can be such dreadful snobs! 
 
 I can't explain the difficulty to you 
 now. At your age you wouldn't under- 
 stand the want of money any more than 
 you would understand this letter, were 
 you to see it. Later on, if I am not here, 
 if I have to go before I am able to finish 
 what I have begun, these stray letters, 
 which I write from time to time to 
 ease my loneliness and my aching heart, 
 will show you what I wanted my boy to 
 be, and perhaps help him on his way. 
 
 Once upon a time when I was nine-
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 25 
 
 teen and first married I tried hard to 
 economize in my housekeeping. I was 
 very young and silly in those days. I 
 made a list of the things I would save on, 
 and the other day I came across them 
 pasted in an old diary of your father's. 
 Don't laugh, Son. It will at least show 
 you that your mother was really young 
 once. 
 
 1. Three courses instead of five for 
 
 dinner. 
 
 2. Give up scent and ribbons for 
 
 threading through. 
 
 3. Only wear silk stockings in Lon- 
 
 don. 
 
 4. Grow vegetables and keep fowls. 
 
 5. Ask cook to show me how things 
 
 are made before I give her 
 notice and get a cheaper one. 
 
 6. Buy a money-box and save far- 
 
 things from the drapers. 
 
 7. Get Welsh mutton instead of 
 
 New Zealand lamb. It ought
 
 26 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 to be cheaper, Wales being 
 miles nearer than the other 
 place. 
 
 8. Ask the grocer to write English so 
 that I can dispute the items in 
 his book. 
 
 My economies will have to be very 
 different now: no play about them, 
 darling. First and foremost I shall 
 have to leave this house where you and 
 your father before you were born, and 
 go into a little semi-detached villa. 
 I have three hundred a year and this 
 house. I have to keep two gardeners, 
 two maid-servants, and a little boy. 
 The little boy is now going to swallow 
 it all. The fees for your preparatory 
 school are 150, so when your clothes 
 have been bought you grow so fast, 
 dear that will leave me very little 
 more than a hundred for myself. I 
 shall manage on it, you'll see. Perhaps
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 27 
 
 I shall be able to think of some way of 
 making a bit more so as to give you a 
 nice time in the holidays. 
 
 I am sitting in the garden, with my 
 writing block on my knee. You came 
 up just now, tired for the moment of 
 digging in your garden, and clambered 
 on my lap. You placed a muddy 
 finger- tip between my eyebrows: 
 
 "That's the little line that comes 
 when you're asleep in the morning, 
 mummy. I've smoothed it out ever 
 so often, but it comes back again 
 most immediately soon. Why does it 
 come?" 
 
 "Worry, darling." 
 
 "What do you worry for?" 
 
 "I was thinking about money." 
 
 "We've got lots of money oceans!" 
 you protested stoutly. 
 
 Then the tide is out, darling! 
 
 You sat thinking. Presently you 
 scampered off into the house . You came
 
 28 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 back breathless and threw something 
 that chinked into my lap. 
 
 "There you are, mummy. I don't 
 want it!" 
 
 Your red pillar-box savings bank! 
 
 You duck! 
 
 My eyes went blind for a minute. 
 When I had suitably thanked you and 
 pretended to have accepted your two 
 hundred pence, you went back to your 
 digging. My dim eyes stared stupidly 
 at the old house facing me, subcon- 
 sciously making an inventory of home 
 and garden. 
 
 Its windows are like eyes. Through 
 the feathery branches of the cedar on 
 the lawn they seem to give me gaze for 
 gaze reproachfully. It is as though 
 they want to remind me of what we 
 are about to lose. From their weather- 
 beaten stone architraves set in old red 
 brick they look down on green turf 
 velvety with the care of two centuries,
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 29 
 
 on the flagged paths and the clipped 
 yews and the wealth of bloom that 
 abounds in the garden on this summer 
 afternoon. They look down on the 
 sturdy little fair-haired boy in his faded 
 blue garden overall Son of the house! 
 Dear God. It hurts!
 
 On the Last Days 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 HPHESE last days, Son! How they 
 * drag! I know we both heartily 
 wish they were over. We try to fill 
 them with exciting doings, and our 
 spirits are quite hectically high, aren't 
 they? But our throats hurt and our 
 eyes burn, and we can't bear to look at 
 one another for very long. We're hid- 
 ing it from each other that the coming 
 parting is going to be an awful trial. 
 It's like waiting in the dentist's room, 
 knowing and fearing the coming cruel 
 wrench. We shall be better when it's 
 over, but not immediately. The wrench 
 makes the void ache almost as much as 
 the tooth did. But the gaping place 
 heals, and in the case of youth, another 
 30
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 31 
 
 tooth fills the void before long. You 
 would understand that simile out of your 
 own experience, would you not? 
 
 All the same, in spite of the stomach- 
 achy feelings in our hearts, we've had 
 grand times these last few days, and 
 
 Captain has been a "ripping good 
 
 sort," hasn't he? He got up all the 
 picnics, and motor-car drives, and crick- 
 et-matches for your sake, Son. 
 
 He is the man who wants to look after 
 us both, and although we've decided 
 to be independent and look after our- 
 selves it's nice to know we've got such 
 a staunch friend behind us. 
 
 So, as I've been on the jaunt with 
 you all day, I've had to do the greater 
 part of your packing at night. That is 
 just as well. You haven't seen it going 
 on. It's done now, all except the labels. 
 In your playbox are your favourite 
 toys : clock-work trains, signals, soldiers, 
 boats, all go with you, my son; but
 
 32 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 poor old Teddy Bear, friend of child- 
 hood, must be left at home. Teddy 
 Bear's day is over. Eight-year-old boys 
 can't take such things to school. Ten- 
 and eleven-year-old's would laugh at 
 you. Besides, you elected to leave him 
 behind yourself, and I really don't 
 think you care tuppence ha'penny about 
 the long-suffering object. The whacks 
 and bangs he's had! The thumpings 
 and bumpings! 
 
 Your tuck-box is also ready. It 
 ought to make you persona grata with 
 the other boys, for it's a tuck-box in a 
 thousand. You don't know anything 
 about the goodies inside it, so it will be 
 quite exciting for you to unpack it. 
 
 And all your clothes are folded and 
 packed packed so lovingly, my darling, 
 six pairs of this, six pairs of that, six 
 of these, and six of those. And salt 
 tears have dropped in among them. 
 Lavender would have done better. I
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 33 
 
 wonder if the servants and matrons who 
 unpack the boys' boxes have the imagi- 
 nation to guess at the love, the kisses, 
 and the tears that are all mixed in with 
 the little shirts, pants, and vests? They're 
 not mothers, poor things, so perhaps 
 they haven't. It was depressing to 
 think that everything I had so lovingly 
 sorted and arranged and prayed over 
 will be unpacked by strangers whose sole 
 interest in them will be to see that each 
 article is marked with the owner's name 
 in full. Strangers ! Strangers in future 
 to do everything for my son. I sup- 
 pose every mother in the world who has 
 to send her son to school for the first 
 time goes through what I am suffering 
 now. 
 
 But when he comes back! The joy 
 of turning out the dear, worn garments ! 
 The new socks will be all darns bumpy 
 darns, I'm sure, because darning is a 
 work of the heart as much as the hand;
 
 34 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 the once spotless flannels shrunk and 
 discoloured; the Norfolk suits gone thin 
 at the elbows and knees ; the shoes worn 
 down at heel a larger size next term! 
 And yet, Sonnie, how I shall revel in that 
 unpacking! I shall sing over it, hymns 
 of praise and thanksgiving. 
 
 But alas ! it's a long way from that yet. 
 You've got to leave me first before I 
 can begin to anticipate your coming 
 back. 
 
 I saw you looking at me very often 
 and very hard today to see whether I 
 was near to tears. But these are the 
 days when I have to be your backer and 
 bottle-holder and chief of the staff all 
 in one as well as your mother, and I'm 
 keeping a stiff upper lip. I knew that 
 a tremble in my voice, a tear in my eye, 
 would bring you sobbing into my arms, 
 just a very litle boy afraid of facing the 
 world, of being sent away from his 
 mother. The cutting of the apron-
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 35 
 
 string is a very painful process. Like 
 the puppy dog's tail it's best done in the 
 very early days when these small opera- 
 tions don't hurt so much. A whole tail 
 quite spoils the look of a decent dog, 
 even though some misguided people 
 allow it to remain out of a sense of 
 humanity. It's the same with the apron- 
 string. It has to be cut if the boy is to 
 grow out of puppyhood. 
 
 So we've kept our hearts hardened, and 
 we've had no "scenes " stoics, both 
 of us, learning one of life's hard lessons. 
 
 All the same, I nearly broke down 
 when you were saying your prayers. 
 You thought I didn't notice it, my 
 precious, but you were a long time 
 getting up, and I knew you were kissing 
 the folds of my skirt. It made my 
 heart come into my throat. Oh, how 
 I wanted to hug you! 
 
 But I didn't. I tucked you up and 
 left you with a sensible, not too-linger-
 
 36 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 ing kiss. I dared not stay. Long after 
 you thought I had gone downstairs 
 I heard you sobbing, fighting with your 
 sobs, horrid breathy sobs a small man 
 in trouble. 
 
 Your boy's busy day had come to an 
 end, and you realized in a rush that this 
 was your very last night at home, and 
 that tomorrow night. . . ! 
 
 I had to fight hard not to come in and 
 howl with you. But that isn't the way 
 to help you. If your dear father had 
 been alive I might have let my mother- 
 feelings go, but I've got to practice 
 some of the manly virtues now. 
 
 Keep up, keep up ! I am sobbing ! 
 
 Very late. 
 
 I have been in to kiss you. You are 
 fast asleep. And you've taken Teddy 
 to bed with you. His head is all sodden 
 soaked with tears, and oh! in my 
 anxiety to do the right thing, I keep
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 37 
 
 asking myself whether I am sending you 
 away too soon. 
 
 You haven't slept with Teddy for a 
 year. 
 
 Why tonight ?
 
 On Utter Solitude 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 IT is all over. You have gone. The 
 * train has swept you and a lot of 
 other boys out of the station, out of my 
 sight. We made our last good-byes 
 quickly and in public. More stoicism. 
 Without it we should both have broken 
 down. 
 
 I turned my back and pulled down my 
 veil. It was a long, long platform to 
 traverse before I could gain the shelter 
 of the ladies' waiting-room. It seemed 
 nearly as long as life. I thought I 
 should never get to the end of it. I 
 could not see. And one sob that was 
 meant to be a silent one came out with 
 a sudden breaking noise. Just at the 
 last I could have sworn I heard your
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 39 
 
 voice cry "Mother!" I nearly turned 
 and raced back, but I kept right 
 on. 
 
 Son, I am utterly alone!
 
 On Work, Play, and Decent Language 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 VEAREST 
 
 I'm writing to you at once as 
 I promised ; but I shall have to wait for 
 your letter until Saturday. I am sure 
 you will have a tremendous lot to tell 
 me; and remember I want to know 
 everything. Don't leave anything out. 
 Tell me your whole day's doings, what 
 you think of your school, how you like 
 lessons and games, of the friends you 
 have made and who they are. 
 
 I hope you had a jolly journey down. 
 I'm sure you didn't fret. It's so babyish. 
 
 I haven't any news to tell you. I am 
 
 just by myself and nothing is happening. 
 
 If I were not your mother I should wish 
 
 to be your elder brother and at school 
 
 40
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 41 
 
 with you. I think boys are such lucky 
 creatures. Girls don't have half such 
 a good time at school as boys. 
 
 It is a good time in spite -of lessons, 
 even because of them. I wonder if I 
 can make you see that. Really, learning 
 things is interesting, if you don't think 
 of it as a task. Everybody in the world 
 is learning things all the time. Grown- 
 ups, I mean. And they are glad to 
 learn. You have no idea how much 
 every new thing you learn makes you 
 feel more sure of yourself, gives you 
 some advantage over the person who 
 hasn't learnt it. Don't think it a task. 
 It may seem so at first. Boys look at 
 it like that, I know, but that's because 
 the reason for lessons hasn't been pro- 
 perly explained to them. 
 
 Listen, think. Ask WHY about every- 
 thing you don't understand. Keep on 
 asking WHY. Good masters don't mind 
 questions : they take much more interest
 
 42 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 in the boy who asks them. It is the 
 boy who doesn't ask because he's 
 inattentive or stupid or doesn't care 
 that the master doesn't like. You are 
 not stupid, and I'm sure you care, 
 so be sure you are not inattentive. 
 Then everything will go smoothly for 
 you. There's another thing about at- 
 tention. It makes the time pass quicker. 
 It makes the next lesson easier, too, 
 so that in the end lessons don't seem 
 either long or hard. 
 
 All the masters at your school are 
 good men, university men, gentlemen. 
 Remember that too. Boys think mas- 
 ters are machines paid to stuff them with 
 bothersome things. That's quite a mis- 
 take. Really, it's harder work for them 
 to teach than for boys to learn. That 
 is why you must show respect for them 
 by doing your best. To be inattentive 
 is rude as well as waste of your own 
 time.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 43 
 
 That's enough about work: now for 
 play. Put your heart into your games 
 cricket, football, rackets. Never mind 
 if you get hurt. You are bound to be 
 sometimes. Games at which you can't 
 get hurt aren't worth playing. Directly 
 you play them decently you won't 
 notice the knocks. I want, above 
 everything, to see you a ''blue" some 
 day. 
 
 Be modest. Don't think yourself a 
 better man than the other fellows. 
 Don't put on "swank" if you happen 
 to be at the top of your form, or hold a 
 hot return at cricket. Think how much 
 more frequently you'll have cause to 
 sing small because you're nearer the 
 bottom, or the shot at goal has missed! 
 Be chummy with as many boys as you 
 can. If there are any who make you 
 feel like old Kibob when his heckles go 
 up, don't spoil for a fight as he does. 
 Still, if you ever have to fight fight.
 
 44 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 Win if you can, but, if you can't, take 
 a licking like a gentleman and don't 
 bear malice. 
 
 By the way, some boys are apt to use 
 very queer words. I should stick to 
 decent language if I were you. Swear- 
 ing isn't a bit manly, really. Besides, if 
 you get into the habit of it, you might 
 do it in my hearing. It's an appalling 
 thing to use bad language in the pres- 
 ence of a lady. I don't think you will 
 
 come across much bad language at , 
 
 thank Goodness! 
 
 If at any time there's anything you 
 don't understand, or are puzzled about, 
 ask me. If there's anything wrong, 
 tell me. There's no sense in bottling 
 it up. It might be something I ought 
 to know. That isn't sneaking. It 
 would be sneaking if I were one of the 
 masters and you were to tell me some- 
 thing that would get another boy into 
 trouble; but I'm your mother, not
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 45 
 
 a master, so you can tell me every- 
 thing. 
 
 There's a long lecture, my son! I 
 shan't repeat it, but don't forget it, all 
 the same. 
 
 I shall have lots more to tell you next 
 time I write, I expect. Don't worry 
 about me, darling. I haven't time to 
 miss you. There's such a lot to do, 
 getting ready to leave this house, letting 
 it, and so on. 
 
 Good-bye till next week. Write me 
 a long, long letter. Never mind about 
 the spelling. 
 
 Your loving 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 P. S. Captain has just brought 
 
 in these stamps for you. He says the 
 surcharged Natal ones are worth having. 
 
 Don't forget to put your sweater on 
 when you're hot after a game. That's 
 not coddling. It's sense.
 
 On Taking the Rough with the Smooth 
 (Posted) 
 
 VEAREST : 
 
 I was awfully disappointed to get 
 your letter. I can't possibly write to 
 Mr. J - and ask him to let you off 
 your swimming lessons. I can't say 
 you're not strong and that accordingly 
 it's bad for you, because you're quite 
 strong and it's good for you. You must 
 learn to swim and to like it. It's silly 
 to think you're drowning because you're 
 thrown in and a lot of water gets in 
 your mouth. Is it likely they would let 
 a boy drown? If the man is a little 
 rough teaching you, you must grin and 
 bear it. Spit out the water and strike 
 out. You can't expect to be taught 
 gently as if you were a girl. They have 
 4 6
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 47 
 
 to be put into hike-warm water and 
 made to flop about on silly ladder things. 
 You'd be sorry to be a girl! 
 
 I know you'll think I'm an unsym- 
 pathetic creature, but, believe me, you 
 need not be afraid. Everybody who 
 learns to swim has the same feelings 
 about it as you have. They don't 
 last. If you think for a moment you 
 will see that the fear of being about to 
 sink is really what stimulates you to 
 try and swim. I won't believe you are 
 a water-funk or indeed a funk of any 
 kind. From what you say I am glad to 
 see that you kept your feelings to your- 
 self, and having been man enough to do 
 that it won't take you long to get over 
 them. 
 
 So, buck up, darling. It's all in the 
 day's work, and we've got to take the 
 rough with the smooth. 
 
 When you were a little boy, about 
 four, you were a dreadfully impatient
 
 48 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 little person. You wanted everything 
 at once. You didn't understand what 
 patience means. One day I tried to 
 explain it to you. I told you that 
 whenever you felt impatient or in a 
 particular hurry to do or get something 
 over you were to say to yourself, "Pa- 
 tience, patience!" You pronounced it 
 "Paishon. " Well, one day we were in 
 a big field and saw a bull. We couldn't 
 turn tail. We had come too far. You 
 wanted to run. I told you you mustn't, 
 that you must walk slowly as if nothing 
 were the matter, and then the bull 
 wouldn't take any notice of us. You 
 got fearfully red in the face, and gripped 
 tight hold of my hand ; and all the time 
 you kept muttering to yourself right 
 across the field: ''Paishon! Paishon f 
 Paishon!' 1 
 
 You learnt the meaning of it that day. 
 
 When you're swimming and feel that 
 you are sinking just remember the bull
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 49 
 
 in the field, and say " Paishon ! Paishon ! 
 Paishon!" until you've got to the other 
 side of the bath. 
 
 You can't drown, Son. Do you think 
 7 would let you? Why, I would be 
 writing to your Head every minute of 
 the day if I thought there was the faint- 
 est danger of it. As it is, I'm not writing 
 to him at all. 
 
 Your loving 
 
 MOTHER.
 
 On Sympathy and Martyrdom 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 JV /I Y beloved little Son: 
 * * * I've just had to write you a 
 brute of a letter. It did hurt to do it. I 
 don't know how I got to the letter-box 
 with it or hardened my heart sufficiently 
 to drop it in. In time I shall grow into 
 a flint of a woman. 
 
 I know you funk it, darling, and I 
 funk it, too. I hate the idea of your 
 shivering, shaking, and spluttering in 
 a nasty cold tank. And Autumn's a 
 cruel time to begin. I would have given 
 anything to have written to your Head- 
 master begging you off on the plea of a 
 delicate chest. And you'll never know 
 the miserable struggle I had to restrain 
 myself from doing so. 
 so
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 51 
 
 Personally, I hate cold water. I 
 can't understand anyone enjoying it; 
 but for all that, until I hear that you 
 enjoy your swim, I'm going to take a 
 cold plunge every morning, too. If 
 I were a middle-aged woman, I shouldn't 
 do such an idiotic thing, but as I'm 
 young and it can't do me any harm I 
 can make myself uncomfortable and 
 cold out of sympathy with you. But 
 all the same I shan't let my son know 
 what a little fool his "sensible" mother 
 is!
 
 On Owning Home for the Holidays 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 OWEETHEART! I am a girl today. 
 ^ I am all youth and bright eyes and 
 blushes. Surely I cannot be a grown- 
 up mother-woman who is expecting her 
 son home for his holidays! 
 
 Home for the holidays! Hip, hip, 
 hurrah ! 
 
 Oh, my dear, we have all been so busy 
 getting ready for the master of our 
 house. Cookie (she's the only servant 
 I've got now) has been roasting herself 
 alive in the kitchen. The good things 
 and the cakes she has made! 
 
 Your bedroom is ready: the bed 
 made. You will lie in it tonight. My 
 son under his own roof -tree! 
 
 His own roof- tree! Hardly that. 
 52
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 53 
 
 You're coming back to a semi-detached 
 villa, darling. 
 
 But there's a big, bursting heart 
 waiting for you ! 
 
 I'm so afraid you'll be different. I 
 hope you haven't grown out of all the 
 dear baby ways that I love so. I can't 
 write. I'm shaking with excitement. 
 I'm just sitting at my bureau scribbling 
 one of my many unposted letters to 
 you, just to make the minutes go until 
 it is time to meet your train. 
 
 Will you look at me with the eyes of a 
 critical little boy who sees his mother 
 for the first time as other people see 
 her? 
 
 Am I pretty? I do hope you'll 
 think me pretty. Schoolboys love their 
 mothers to be pretty. 
 
 I've been quite a long time over my 
 toilette this morning. I've put on a 
 short skirt so that I can run to meet you 
 when I see you on the platform, and I'm
 
 54 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 in the colour your father loved best 
 grey with a touch of rose. 
 
 "Hulloa, old girl, what have you 
 got on that dress for? You look very 
 festive. " 
 
 I put up my face, and draw his down. 
 We rub cheeks affectionately. 
 
 "Don't you know what today is, 
 husband?" 
 
 "Dash it all, anniversary of our 
 wedding, isn't it? We seem to have 
 about five a year. We haven't been 
 married one yet, sweetheart, have 
 we?" 
 
 "Fie, for shame! Do you forget we 
 have an eight-year-old son?" 
 
 "Why, so we have. The little chap's 
 coming home today. You didn't think 
 I'd forgotten, Kid? That's why I put 
 a flower in my buttonhole. " 
 
 I suddenly reach out and hold your 
 hand tight, my husband, and your voice
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 55 
 
 goes on, lips murmuring against my 
 face. 
 
 "Think of it, Kid! It doesn't seem 
 nine years since we first promised not 
 to get tired of each other. What an 
 unnecessary promise, and how easy to 
 keep! Jolly to think we've got the 
 rest of our lives together, and the boy 
 growing up like a young tree of our own 
 planting. Life won't be long enough 
 for us. Isn't it time to meet his train? " 
 
 Son, I've been dreaming! 
 "The rest of our lives together. " 
 It is time for me to meet your train 
 alone. 
 
 "Grey with a touch of rose!"
 
 On a Public School 
 (Posted) 
 
 BAREST 
 
 I am a wee bit disappointed that 
 the public school I had in mind for you 
 has no vacancy for a long time to come. 
 You are entered for - . 
 
 The T - s have a house there, so I 
 spent last week with them and went 
 over the college. Of course it is his- 
 torical and backed by fine traditions. 
 It has turned out great men. But I 
 must own that I was not very favourably 
 impressed by the boys I saw wander- 
 ing about the narrow streets. I don't 
 like their slouch. I hope you won't 
 acquire it. Most of them walked with 
 their hands in their pockets and their 
 hats over their eyes. The wearing of 
 56
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 57 
 
 the elastic behind gives the back of their 
 heads an odd prominence. Some of 
 them looked self-sufficient young crea- 
 tures ! I studied them at close quarters 
 for the best part of the week, comparing 
 them with other public school boys I 
 have met, and I know exactly what's the 
 matter with them, and why. 
 
 You hardly ever see a boy in a 
 
 hurry. He saunters. He walks up the 
 hill wearily. His complexion is muddy. 
 He has a lack-lustre expression, and he 
 looks as if he takes no interest in any- 
 thing. 
 
 The boy seems chronically bilious. 
 
 If I were Headmaster I should give 
 every one of them a blue pill and a black 
 draught, shut up all but one of the 
 dozen tuck-shops in the place, and keep 
 that one under my own supervision. 
 
 Boys swarm like bees in these tuck- 
 shops. They saunter from one to the 
 other. I have seen the same boys visit
 
 58 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 three in one morning. I was lunching 
 in one of them. It was just after the 
 school dinner-hour. A small boy came 
 in, inspected the counter with greedy 
 eyes, gave an order, and sat down at one 
 of the tables. He ate and ate. This is 
 what he had : 
 
 Two eclairs, 
 
 Lemonade, 
 
 A cream horn, 
 
 A bath bun, 
 
 Another bath bun, 
 
 Gingerbeer, 
 
 Two sticks of horrible looking rock, 
 
 One slice of cake, 
 
 Two bananas. 
 
 Then he got up slowly, paid listlessly, 
 and slouched out, probably to the next 
 shop up the street. He didn't look a 
 bit ashamed of himself, only sick. 
 
 Apparently the boys are not restricted 
 as to what they may or may not eat, 
 either in quality or quantity. All that
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 59 
 
 seems required of them is that they 
 shall pay for it. I don't like it a lit- 
 tle bit, and I hope you'll have sense 
 enough not to follow the gluttonous 
 
 habit. The boy seems to think 
 
 that life is one vast tuck-shop. I dare 
 say many of the house-masters' wives 
 get worried when they find some of 
 their charges off their feed, and wonder 
 why. 
 
 I am fairly sure that the confectioners 
 there do not sell particularly good 
 things. But they make the boys pay 
 enough for them. The wily creatures 
 know that boys are not critical, and 
 they trade on it. 
 
 You will ruin your digestion if you 
 
 go in for tuck on the fashion. I 
 
 suppose it's no good hoping that the 
 system will be altered just because of the 
 whim of one scandalized mother. 
 
 Now that I've pointed out what you 
 ought to avoid I shall be most miserable
 
 60 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 if, when you've been there a little while, 
 I get a letter from you like this : 
 
 "My dear Mother, Please do send 
 me some more pocket-money. Mine's 
 all gone, though I don't know how. 
 Yesterday in chapel I felt very ill. 
 Everything went a sort of green colour, 
 and I had to go out. " 
 
 You won't get any sympathy from 
 me! 
 
 The sock-and-tie shops seem to run 
 the confectioners fairly close. I saw 
 lots of big fellows stopping to stare in 
 at the dandified things in the windows. 
 Well, socks and ties are comparatively 
 harmless. Indulgence in them won't 
 ruin your constitution. 
 
 It also struck me that the boys 
 
 are dreadfully slovenly in their dress. I 
 like to see boys and men shining at both 
 
 ends hair and shoes. The boy's 
 
 hair is nearly always ruffled (owing to 
 the elastic), and his shoes never look
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 61 
 
 properly cleaned. Still, that's not his 
 fault. 
 
 The fewness of bathrooms is another 
 thing that I didn't like. Altogether 
 my spirits got quite damped. 
 
 But they rose again quickly (like 
 the tuft of hair on top of your head that 
 won't sit down) after I had watched a 
 cricket match. Cricket is a clean and a 
 great game, and the way boys play it 
 tells a careful observer the tone of their 
 school. As long as there's good cricket, 
 the school's all right. Your father said 
 so, and he knew. 
 
 I shall be all impatience until you get 
 a study of your own. There's a furnish- 
 ing shop where you can choose the most 
 splendiferous of arm-chairs, the gayest 
 of cushions, the brightest of rugs. 
 When I went in to buy some trifle I 
 could not help watching and listening 
 to a study-owner who was there with 
 his mother and two grown-up pretty
 
 62 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 girl sisters. He was a self-possessed 
 young lord of creation, about thirteen, 
 and they were all tremendously anxious 
 to help him with their advice in the 
 choice of a chair. He cavilled at the 
 patterns, the shapes, the sizes. He sat 
 in one, he sat in another. He made his 
 mother and his sisters sit, and finally 
 he chose a nobbley-looking one that 
 bulged in all the places it shouldn't, 
 because as he explained, "the red stuff 
 will go so well with my yellow curtains. " 
 
 "I'm decorating my study in the 
 Morris style," he went on. "Lots of 
 the fellows are this term. It's not too 
 easy, mater, to get a Morris effect on a 
 fiver!" 
 
 The mother and sisters smiled admir- 
 ingly and chorussed "How nice I" 
 
 I went to a service in chapel on Sun- 
 day. In the choir I spotted the boy who 
 had been eating so outrageously, and 
 whose menu I have given you. He
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 63 
 
 looked white-faced and angelic. The 
 sun shining through one of the stained- 
 glass windows gave him a beautiful ap- 
 pearance. He sang a solo in a soaring, 
 soulless alto. If I had been his mother, 
 his beautiful voice and his look of 
 fragility would have brought tears to 
 my eyes. As it was I could only think 
 of him as a sort of confectioner's dustbin. 
 Nevertheless, there is something about 
 a school service that touches one very 
 deeply. As I sat among this congrega- 
 tion of boys in this world-famed school 
 for the sons of gentlemen, boys of all 
 ages, sizes, and of various nationality, 
 I could not help speculating about their 
 future, on the sort of men they would 
 become, on all that life might or might 
 not give them. Some will be powers in 
 the land a few hold high office; some 
 will achieve greatness, some by virtue 
 of birth and tradition are already great; 
 some will illumine the world of litera-
 
 64 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 ture, science, art; some will explore 
 the dark places of the earth; some will 
 be the nation's defenders. Out of every 
 hundred how many? And the rest, 
 what of them? The majority will dis- 
 appear and be heard of no more. A 
 residue a small one, thank God will 
 come to grief, all the more disastrous 
 because of the height from which they 
 fall. 
 
 Boys in the crucible of life! 
 
 Thinking these thoughts when I 
 knelt in the very chapel where you will 
 kneel, darling, my whole heart went 
 out to God in prayer for you. 
 
 And the Benediction echoed that 
 prayer aloud for every mother's son: 
 
 "The peace of God, which passeth 
 all understanding, keep your hearts and 
 minds in the knowledge and love of God, 
 and of His Son Jesus Christ our Lord; 
 and the blessing of God Almighty, the 
 Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost,
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 65 
 
 be amongst you and remain with you 
 always. " 
 
 "Always!" Amen. 
 
 Son, be good! It would break my 
 heart if you were not. 
 
 5
 
 On a Voice 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 nPODAY I heard a man's voice in the 
 * kitchen. 
 
 "A great big plum cake, cook. And 
 don't be mean with the currants." 
 
 For a minute I could not think who 
 it could be. Had cook, at forty, a 
 confirmed spinster, succumbed to the 
 fascinations of "a young man?" It 
 couldn't be you. Your voice was all 
 cracks and squeaks at breakfast. 
 
 It came again, very distinctly. 
 
 "You're a dear old thing! I'll have 
 a slice now. Buck up!" 
 
 My heart beat violently. A rush of 
 tears came into my eyes, for I heard the 
 voice of your father across the gulf of 
 fifteen years. 
 
 66
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 67 
 
 I opened the kitchen door and went in. 
 
 As I might have expected, I saw a 
 rather lanky boy perched on the kitchen 
 table, swinging his legs, a huge slab of 
 cake in his hand. 
 
 And then cook, in the tone of one 
 announcing a visitor: 
 
 "Master 's new voice is come, 
 
 ma'am." 
 
 "Y-es, cook." 
 
 "And, begging your pardon, ma'am, 
 isn't it like the dear master's?" 
 
 I nodded, eyes blind. 
 
 "Have a slice, mother?" came my 
 husband's voice, from the lips of my 
 schoolboy son.
 
 On Certain Subjects that Puzzle Youth 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 PVEAREST : 
 
 * ' How time flies! It seems only 
 the other day, or a month or two at 
 most, that you were a dear little fat 
 creature in tunic and short trousers. I 
 have to think quite hard to realize that 
 you're a great, tall, growing sixteen- 
 year-old public school man. 
 
 Perhaps your letter and some of the 
 things you ask me in it bring me to 
 earth with a bit of a shock! Very soon, 
 even before I'm an elderly woman, you'll 
 be a man. 
 
 It makes it rather difficult for me, 
 dear, because I am not yet elderly, and 
 I am rather shy. But I'll put my shy- 
 ness in my pocket. 
 
 68
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 69 
 
 Read what I am going to say very 
 carefully. Big Pal is talking. 
 
 You came into the world like all 
 babies in the ordinary, extraordinary 
 way. There is no mystery about it at 
 all, and nothing whatever to be ashamed 
 of. Men and women worthy the name 
 don't discuss these subjects for two 
 reasons. Firstly, because they under- 
 stand them, secondly because they con- 
 cern that deepest and most beautiful 
 emotion in the world called Love. 
 
 In a measure, you know what love is 
 already. I love you. You love me. 
 Yet, you wouldn't go bragging to other 
 men about how much you love me. 
 You are reticent about that very love 
 because it is so sacred, so deep inside of 
 you. The other love without which 
 we should not have our being is sacred 
 in the same sense. 
 
 You love me in a great deep unex- 
 plainable way because you are part of
 
 70 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 your father. And your father loved me. 
 Do you follow that? The rest of you 
 is me. 
 
 I loved your father as only a woman 
 can, because I wished him to make me 
 the mother of you. 
 
 If you do not understand that go to 
 any one of the masters you are friends 
 with and ask him what you want to 
 know. Then come back and read this. 
 
 Now you understand that men, and 
 even boys who are growing into men, 
 owe a duty to all women for the sake of 
 their mothers. 
 
 All women are not good; all men are 
 not good ; all boys are not good. 
 
 You must know that. You can be 
 sorry for that, but it need not otherwise 
 concern you. You can help to make the 
 world a better place, not by preaching 
 but simply by living a decent life now 
 and when you are older thinking decent 
 thoughts.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 71 
 
 Some boys and young men think it 
 is funny to joke and make light of sub- 
 jects that nicer people do not talk about. 
 One of the truest and tritest of sayings 
 is that "familiarity breeds contempt." 
 The wrong kind of familiarity is meant. 
 The right kind is synonymous with love. 
 So, in the same way, if you become 
 wrongly familiar with subjects that 
 should be sacred to you, I assure you 
 that in later years you will lose the 
 greatest joy life can give. You will 
 blunt the edge of the emotion that leads 
 a man to choose a good wife, make a 
 good home, be a good father and a good 
 man. 
 
 Love, if you let it come to you at the 
 right time, which is the Appointed Time, 
 can be, will be, the Poem of Life, the 
 Crown of Existence. 
 
 My poem was one short verse. 
 
 Once you understand it, put this 
 subject out of your mind. The time to
 
 72 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 know more about it is not yet. It if 
 sacred. I cannot say the word often 
 enough. Death is sacred. Birth is 
 sacred. All things that concern life 
 vitally are sacred. Never joke about 
 them. You are not yet old enough to 
 know whether a joke is in good taste 
 or bad taste, merely funny or merely 
 vulgar. 
 
 Remember, too, if you should be led 
 into a discussion of these subjects with 
 other boys you would be making light 
 unwittingly of the most intimate events 
 in your mother's life, events associated 
 with her greatest happiness and her 
 greatest pain. Therefore I feel sure 
 you will not do it. Nice boys keep off 
 such matters for the same reason that 
 nice people do. 
 
 Now I've used up so many sheets of 
 paper in trying to clear up the fog I 
 could see you were in that I have very 
 little room left to tell you actual bits of
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 73 
 
 news. I shall have to give them to you 
 in headlines, like the daily papers. 
 
 The carpenter has just finished mak- 
 ing your butterfly case. Shall I send it 
 on or keep it for you until the holidays? 
 
 I can't get a tie exactly the shade of 
 
 the sock you sent, but Captain 
 
 bought the enclosed in the Burlington 
 Arcade. Although it isn't a very good 
 match it's a jolly nice tie. Write and 
 thank him for it. 
 
 I am so glad you have enjoyed reading 
 Stalky 6f Co. Do you know, ever since 
 you have been a schoolboy I have read 
 it in bed every night of my life. Bible 
 in the morning. Stalky & Co. at night. 
 I think I know it by heart. Isn't it 
 fine where McTurk, forgetting he is a 
 schoolboy caught poaching, rounds on 
 the keeper for shooting a fox, and 
 talks to Colonel Daubeney as "man to 
 man?" And the chapter called an 
 " Unsavoury Interlude, " in which Beetle
 
 74 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 and Stalky retaliate on Heffy's house by 
 means of the dead cat? And I love the 
 dear, sly, tolerant, Padre with his big 
 understanding heart for these young rips. 
 Stalky 's war- verse is set to music in 
 my mind. I'm often humming it. 
 
 "Arrah, Patsy, mind the baby! 
 
 Arrah, Patsy, mind the child ! 
 Wrap him up in an overcoat, 
 He's surely goin' wild!" 
 
 You can forgive Stalky & Co. all the 
 outlandish things they did when you 
 read the last chapter, and see what fine 
 men they became. It's a chapter to 
 make one choke, and then to turn back 
 and read again the poem at the begin- 
 ning. It doesn't properly soak into you 
 until you've finished the book. 
 
 " Western wind and open surge 
 Took us from our mothers; 
 
 Flung us on a naked shore 
 
 (Twelve bleak houses by the shore 
 
 Seven summers by the shore !) 
 'Mid two hundred brothers.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 75 
 
 " Let us now praise famous men 
 Men of little showing 
 
 For their work continueth, 
 And their work continueth, 
 Broad and deep continueth 
 
 Greater than their knowing!" 
 
 Your father had a veneration for 
 Kipling, something even deeper than 
 that. He was an unemotional man, but 
 Kipling stirred him immensely. He 
 could never manage to read the Barrack 
 Room Ballads without breaking down. 
 He once described the effect they had on 
 him in these words: "It's as if the man 
 actually digs his pen into one's stomach 
 and twists it there." I think Kipling 
 takes all real men like that. Effeminate 
 men and most women are unable to 
 appreciate him. 
 
 The power of the pen is a wonderful 
 thing, Son. If you write at all, I want 
 you to write like that real, live stuff, 
 stuff for men and the women who are 
 the wives and mothers of men.
 
 76 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 But I'm forgetting you're only sixteen. 
 Anyway, this letter must go. I haven't 
 time to write another. 
 
 Your devoted 
 
 MOTHER.
 
 On the Joys of "WancJerfng 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 pvARLING: 
 
 *-^ You ask me to think of a new and 
 
 jolly way to spend the summer holidays, 
 
 especially as C is coming to stay 
 
 with you. Now what can we do? I 
 know the house is "beastly" small, and 
 that you can't swing a cat in the rooms. 
 And there's no garden. Rotten! I 
 quite agree. 
 
 I can't afford to hire a car, or we'd go 
 
 on a motoring tour. And Captain 
 
 is abroad, so he can't help us with a 
 brilliant notion. Let me sit with my 
 head in my hands and think. 
 
 I've got it! 
 
 We'll take tickets to Devonshire, 
 Somerset or wherever you like, and 
 
 77
 
 78 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 we'll walk back. We'll camp out. 
 We'll be gipsies, rogues, and vagabonds. 
 We'll have the jolliest time. I've done 
 it, so I know. 
 
 Years ago, when I was seventeen, and 
 a most unrecognizable madcap, I walked 
 from Cornwall to Kent with a girl friend. 
 We slept in inns, and we lived on milk, 
 butter, honey, and eggs. We started 
 with all sorts of luggage, silver-backed 
 hair-brushes, boot-trees, and our gro- 
 ceries. But we sent our dressing-cases 
 home the first day, shed other things as 
 we went along, and finally reduced our 
 luggage to a frying-pan. After that we 
 enjoyed ourselves. We bathed every 
 day in the delightful rocky coves you 
 find everywhere along the Cornish 
 coast, and afterwards in the streams 
 we came across. And we washed our 
 clothes and waited till they were ready 
 to put on again. We had a most rough- 
 dried appearance when we arrived home,
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 79 
 
 but we were as brown as berries and 
 felt splendid. 
 
 When spring comes round, even now 
 that I'm a sensible old mother, I begin 
 to feel a stirring in me a sap-rising 
 sort of feeling and I long to wander. 
 
 Just to wander. Men get the feeling. 
 It's as old as the hills. It takes them 
 into strange countries and makes them 
 discover things. It took Livingstone to 
 Africa, Scott to the South Pole, Colum- 
 bus to America. Poor old Sir Walter 
 Raleigh had it badly. Girls get it too, 
 sometimes, but they can't give way to it, 
 because girls generally have to stay at 
 home. It's the same instinct, I suppose 
 this call to "go" that takes the 
 salmon to the sea, and the reindeer to 
 the salt water. But it's healthy, and 
 it's natural, and it's ripping. Christ 
 said, "Take up your bed and walk." 
 I often think He meant it in more ways 
 than one. Walking, wandering, is a
 
 8o THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 sort of soul medicine for grown-up 
 people, just as eating a special grass 
 along the roadside is good for dogs. 
 For you boys it will be just a jolly 
 adventure. 
 
 Of course if I come I shall have to 
 carry a little luggage because it doesn't 
 do to look an idiot at my age, and, 
 besides, you wouldn't like your mother 
 to resemble a new-art, fresh-air crank. 
 I shall wear a light tweed walking-dress, 
 and a sailor hat. I promise you I'll 
 look smart and workmanlike. 
 
 Talking of looking "smart" reminds 
 me of when you were at your prepara- 
 tory school. I don't suppose you re- 
 member the letter you wrote me in your 
 second term? "Darling Mother, the 
 school sports will be next week. Bring so 
 and so. For goodness sake come smart! " 
 
 Well, how does the idea of a walking 
 
 tour suit you? Talk it over with C , 
 
 and let me know.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 81 
 
 You boys need only wear old grey 
 flannels, and carry a rolled mack each. 
 I shall sleep in inns. You can sleep in 
 haystacks or anywhere you like on fine 
 nights. 
 
 Of course you and C could go 
 
 alone, but I should very much like to 
 come too if you feel that I shan't spoil it. 
 I shall at least be useful with the frying- 
 pan!
 
 On the Death of an Old Dog 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 DOOR dear old faithful Kibob is dead. 
 I know how sorry you will be. 
 When you went back this term I had a 
 feeling that he knew he would not see 
 you again. The weight of his years lay 
 very heavily on him at the last. He 
 grew so sad. He had taken to a strange 
 and eerie habit of late. He would go 
 off for solitary walks, and then I would 
 hear long-drawn howls, and following 
 the sound find old Kibob, standing stock 
 still, pointing at nothing that I could 
 see, and at intervals throwing up his 
 head to intone a mournful, tuneless note. 
 When I got near enough to call him 
 he would come to me with ponderous 
 gladness, wagging his tail as fast as he 
 82
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 83 
 
 could, which was not really as fast as he 
 used to. I never could find out the 
 reason why he bayed in broad daylight. 
 Perhaps he felt so old and tired that he 
 despaired of death coming to him un- 
 less he called it. 
 
 Of course it is only natural that he 
 should have died. Fourteen is a ripe 
 old age for a dog. We can console our- 
 selves that in return for his canine love 
 we have given him all that human beings 
 can give a four-footed friend under- 
 standing, care, kindness, exercise, food, 
 a warm bed. He has never known a 
 cross word or a blow since he was a 
 puppy, and those which had to be 
 administered to make of him a perfect 
 gentleman whose kennel was our house, 
 must long ago have faded from his 
 mind. His days have been one long 
 chapter of food, the chase, human com- 
 panionship, dog-meetings, friendships, 
 fights, and dreams.
 
 84 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 Somewhere old Kibob is waiting. 
 We'll think he heard his master calling. 
 When we next see him he won't be old 
 Kibob as we remember him, toothless 
 and battle-scarred, but Kibob in his 
 prime, Kibob who could race a motor 
 car for thirty glorious breathless seconds 
 and then miraculously escape death. 
 I can't imagine a heaven without dogs, 
 can you? 
 
 Just at the end he was in pain and 
 very weak, so I sent for the vet. to help 
 him over the last stile. But the vet. 
 was a long time coming, and after I 
 had given a half teaspoonful of brandy 
 I sat by him holding his paw. Every 
 now and then he kept on lifting his head 
 and looking at the door. 
 
 "Our little master's at school," I 
 said. 
 
 He looked at me, and I verily believe 
 he understood. My last words to him 
 in this world were:
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 85 
 
 ' ' Kiss me for little master. ' ' (You ' ve 
 seen him do it.) 
 
 He put his burning nose against my 
 hand, and kissed it for little master. 
 
 Ten minutes later he died, and we lost 
 a friend. 
 
 Dear old Kibob! May he not feel 
 lonely in the trackless hunting-grounds !
 
 On a Declaration of Faith 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 pvEAREST : 
 
 ^ I'm so glad you've told me. I 
 guessed something of the sort was going 
 on inside you, and I was afraid you 
 would keep it bottled up. Now that 
 you have spoken of it of your own ac- 
 cord I can advise and I think help you. 
 Fancy imagining I should be shocked or 
 angry! Why, dear, I've been through 
 the same thing myself doubts of God, 
 doubts of everything, savage mistrust. 
 
 You're seventeen, and what you tell 
 me only shows that you have begun to 
 think a bit sooner than most boys, that's 
 all. But you haven't thought enough. 
 You say you've read Darwin andHaeckel, 
 and you can't believe there is a God, and 
 
 86
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 87 
 
 that you're an atheist, and therefore I 
 must think you wicked. 
 
 I don't. You've got to a blank wall, 
 and you can't see over it. The wall 
 illustrates your own mental limitations. 
 Surmount those and your view won't be 
 restricted. 
 
 I too have read Darwin and HaeckeL 
 Some of their conclusions I understand 
 and some I don't, because of the tech- 
 nicalities. Like you I once thought 
 there was no God. And I now know 
 there is. Darwin or Haeckel, if you 
 come to think of it, do not deny the 
 existence of a Deity. They were much 
 too clever. What they do destroy is 
 the conventional idea of heaven and 
 hell. But they don't destroy God. 
 They might as well have tried to argue 
 against the organization of the universe. 
 They didn't do that. They merely 
 demolished the wrong kind of faith. 
 But they give you something in its
 
 88 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 place. They expound a consecutive, 
 scientific line of thought that should 
 lead you straight to a real conception 
 of the true God the Infinite Mind. 
 They destroyed once and forever the 
 Biblical, anthropomorphic idea of a 
 white-bearded Deity with a crotchety 
 temper and other human attributes. 
 
 After I had lost faith in the bewilder- 
 ing maze of dogmatic statements and 
 meaningless Church forms, I set my 
 own mind at work to try and find out 
 whether there was a Thinking Creator. 
 It seemed obvious that there must be in 
 Nature something more than a mere 
 haphazard dictator of fortuitous cir- 
 cumstance. Everything in Nature is 
 thought out. Everything is too obvi- 
 ously planned for it to be chance. 
 
 Of course this is a woman's reasoning, 
 and clever men might pick holes in it. 
 But they couldn't say I was fundament- 
 ally wrong. In building up a theory of
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 89 
 
 God they know no more and perhaps a 
 little less than I do, because they go by 
 cold reason, and I go by feeling. Feeling, 
 which is intuition, takes one right over 
 the stumbling-blocks that strew the path 
 of reason. Intuition is seldom wrong. 
 
 Well, intuition tells me there is a God, 
 and reason backs me up. You will see 
 why directly. 
 
 So you've got God back, or you 
 ought to have. 
 
 Think of that as a fact by itself. 
 You needn't associate it with questions 
 of religion. You needn't go into a 
 consideration of all the forms religion 
 has taken, all the deities men have 
 worshipped Buddha, Christ, Moham- 
 med, the Heathen and Greek gods. 
 All that doesn't matter. Let me tell 
 you simply of the one God that does 
 the one God I believe in. 
 
 Let us think about His attributes. 
 Until we have some conception of them
 
 90 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 we can't argue as to God's attitude 
 towards us, or see how much or how little 
 the individual means in the scheme of 
 things. 
 
 God is an Artist. Think of that first 
 and foremost. I hardly need to prove 
 it to you. Everything in Nature is 
 beautiful. A sunset will tell you that 
 God is an Artist. 
 
 God cares sufficiently to make this 
 world we live in (one of many) beautiful 
 to us and for us. A flower smells sweet. 
 True, it's scent attracts the bee, but it 
 also pleases us. 
 
 God cares sufficiently to give us 
 pleasurable emotions. Look at your 
 life now. Isn't it a pleasant one? But 
 it might not have been. Youth, whether 
 it is passed in a good school or the gutter 
 is full of pleasures. Even the slum- 
 child has its joys. Pleasure is of course 
 relative, but in either case it must have 
 been ordained.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 91 
 
 As life goes on our pleasures are in- 
 creased, not lessened. And in addition 
 we are given another gift, about which 
 you ask Love. 
 
 Love is sublime. Together with an 
 emotion that might have been purely 
 physical and fleeting, provided merely 
 for the perpetuation of the race, God has 
 incorporated a love which is spiritual 
 in its essence, and above all, enduring. 
 Then from this miraculous blend of two 
 emotions which one would have said 
 could never be brought into relation 
 with each other, we get another love, 
 that of parents for their children. 
 Besides these emotions, there are others 
 which give rise to the attributes of cour- 
 age, heroism, self-sacrifice, and many 
 other virtues. They all partake of the 
 Divine. They all show that God cares. 
 
 And then when you've got as far as 
 that, you come to another blank wall. 
 I couldn't see over mine for a long time.
 
 92 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 This was it : Assuming that God cares, 
 what is the reason for sin, suffering, 
 death above all death? 
 
 The answer to the first is simple: We 
 need not sin. Consciously, I mean. 
 We are thinking beings, and the choice 
 between right and wrong has been left 
 to our discretion. The touch of Divin- 
 ity in us ought to guide us in that choice. 
 That it does not always do so only 
 shows that we are spiritually imperfect, 
 and mentally lacking in discretion. In 
 other words, sin is ignorance. We can 
 get rid of ignorance by cultivating our 
 intellect. The more intellectual we 
 become the less we sin. Does the 
 reasoning appeal to you? Anyway, take 
 this advice: don't think about sin, and 
 avoid it when it comes your way. 
 
 But death? 
 
 God seems callous about death. To 
 us it is of the deepest import, because 
 as we understand life it is the end.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 93 
 
 But in God's seeming callousness I 
 read the most hopeful message of all. 
 Death does not imply an end. He 
 never meant us to look at it like that or 
 that we should think and speak of it 
 with bated breath as a dread thing. 
 Death is only one of Nature's changes. 
 It ought to be regarded without fear. 
 Fear of death came with the lust not 
 the love of life. I love life. I loved 
 it more once. But I have never been 
 afraid of death. I love it, I think, as 
 it was meant to be loved. When it is 
 time for me to go I shall be ready and 
 resigned. 
 
 So death, I honestly believe, is noth- 
 ing to God, and for that reason we 
 ought not to deplore it. So much lies 
 beyond. 
 
 Something must lie beyond. I don't 
 know what it is. My mind is too 
 insignificant to inform me. What it does 
 tell me is this: that in whatever lies
 
 94 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 beyond there will be some of the things 
 we understood in this life the vital 
 things that must endure because there 
 is no end to them, because they are part 
 of the very attributes of God. Beauty. 
 Love. Joy. 
 
 Even the greatest sorrow in my life 
 the loss of your dear father will, I 
 feel, be atoned for by death. I know 
 that in some way, perhaps in some 
 amplified way, he will be restored to me. 
 Else why has the physical tie between 
 us been severed? a tie that I feel to be 
 after seventeen years as strong and deep 
 as it was at the beginning. There must 
 be a reason. 
 
 Darling son, have I helped you at all? 
 It is so difficult, especially for me, so 
 unskilled in logic, to give reasons for my 
 deepest beliefs or to express them con- 
 vincingly and concisely. All I know is, 
 they are convincing to me. 
 
 You see now that in the accepted sense
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 95 
 
 of the word I am not religious. I do not 
 believe in a lot of things. 
 
 But on the other hand, I do not scoff 
 at other people's beliefs. They may 
 mean as much to them as mine do to me. 
 I have always gone regularly to Church. 
 I counsel you to do likewise. It is a 
 pity to brand oneself as ungodly by 
 stopping away, when one is nothing of 
 the sort. Besides, there is always some- 
 thing beautiful, something true, in 
 every form of religion. Even a whole- 
 hearted dancing dervish has a spark of 
 divinity in him. 
 
 I do believe with all my heart in 
 prayer, in the same way as I believe in 
 telephony and wireless telegraphy. 
 There is a scientific truth in the Biblical 
 injunction: "Ask and ye shall receive, 
 seek and ye shall find, knock and it 
 shall be opened unto you." 
 
 For instance, I love you with all my 
 heart. But when you're away from me,
 
 96 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 I can't send you the things you want, 
 or answer your questions, unless you 
 put yourself into communication with 
 me. 
 
 Now, God, the Creator, is a great 
 law-maker. Law governs the tiniest 
 thing you can conceive. There are 
 general laws and particular laws. One 
 of the particular laws is that you must 
 look for a thing if you want to find it: 
 It doesn't come of itself to you. So, 
 also, I believe it is a law that one must 
 pray for what one wants, establish 
 communication between oneself and the 
 Deity, and not expect the Deity to be a 
 sort of thought-reading present-giver. 
 Ask for what you want with a "please" 
 and say "thank you" like a gentleman 
 when you get it. If it doesn't come off, 
 pray harder. Half-hearted prayers don't 
 get there. They are lost on the way. 
 
 Prayer isn't a question of saying "I 
 want so and so. Please, God, give it to
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 97 
 
 me." You've got to put some force 
 behind the prayer, just as there must be 
 power behind the telephone message to 
 send it to its destination. You know 
 the wooden ball in which the shop- 
 people put the bill and money and then 
 send rolling on wires to the pay-desk? 
 They have to give something or other 
 a jerk to start it off, don't they? Well, 
 prayers need a vigorous send-off, too. 
 
 Very few people cultivate the science 
 of prayer. If they did, most wonder- 
 ful things would be happening in the 
 world. 
 
 As it is, the system is nearly as 
 imperfect as that of the telephone. The 
 current is weak or the connection is 
 imperfect ; lines get crossed, or someone 
 interrupts. All sorts of difficulties arise. 
 
 Still, there is that method of com- 
 munication, and it is meant to be 
 used. 
 
 Think it over, darling. 
 
 7
 
 98 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 This is, after all, a declaration of your 
 mother's faith. 
 
 And the world would say I am a 
 heathen !
 
 On Going "Without 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 OOMETIMES I wonder if I am doing 
 ^ too much for you. Can I do too 
 much? My heart says "No." And 
 since you do not know what I am doing, 
 it cannot spoil you. 
 
 To give you all the things you need 
 necessitates my going without in a way 
 you could not possibly dream of, thank 
 God. I would not let you know for 
 worlds. It is as well for your peace of 
 mind that probably you will never know. 
 A boy is an expensive thing, and as 
 he gets older needs more money and 
 clothes. But you are a good boy. You 
 only have what other boys have. The 
 pity of it is that I have such a little to 
 give you, son of my body and heart ! It 
 
 99
 
 ioo THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 leaves only a trifle over for the little 
 mother who sits at home, and I grudge 
 even that, for I would like to give you all. 
 
 Of course you judge by what you see 
 in the holidays. But I save up for that 
 time. 
 
 It is, after all, no great self-sacrifice 
 on my part. I have merely reduced 
 going without to a fine art. For the 
 last two or three years I have insisted 
 upon "Cookie" taking a temporary 
 place and only coming to me for the 
 holidays. She demurred at first, the 
 dear, because she was quite sure I 
 couldn't look after myself. She even 
 offered to stay on without wages. I 
 thanked her with all my heart and told 
 her that even were I willing to accept 
 such a sacrifice (which I was not) I 
 could still not afford to keep her, where- 
 at she offered to "board herself." I 
 fell on her neck and w r ept at such sheer 
 devotion; but I carried the day, and
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 101 
 
 in the end she went. I think Cookie 
 always had pdte de foie gras designs 
 upon me by the way she seemed to think 
 I needed to be fed. She would be ap- 
 palled if she knew how I manage on so 
 few shillings a week ! And yet I always 
 have an egg for breakfast except when, 
 as the woman who sells them puts it, 
 "eggs is up." Then I have bread and 
 butter and coffee. Bacon being always 
 "up," is out of the question. I often 
 go without lunch altogether. It means 
 something extra for you, a tie or socks, 
 and why eat when one is not hungry? 
 I can always have tea a little earlier. 
 
 Dinner is generally a most sustain- 
 ing meal, although it only consists of 
 one course. Captain , as well as 
 "Cookie," seems to be obsessed by the 
 pdte de foie gras fancy, and so I often 
 find myself rich in a jar of turtle soup, 
 or some such luxury. 
 
 That's one way of economizing. I
 
 102 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 have others. I hardly ever buy a new 
 frock. It's a case of adapting the old 
 ones to circumstances and change of 
 weather! Occasionally, I make a guinea 
 or so with my pen. That means an 
 extra treat of some kind in the holidays. 
 The last guinea was for thirty-six words 
 on a postcard! That's sevenpence a 
 word ; and I've always understood that 
 newspaper people only get a penny a 
 line. Who says literature is ill-paid? 
 My thirty-six words were "On the best 
 way of using up stale bread. " 
 
 But I earned another guinea in a less 
 mundane way. It was for this : 
 
 He travelled, oh so joyously 
 Along the paths of Truth. 
 
 No cloud or sorrow anywhere, 
 For God had given Youth. 
 
 Then, as the way grew harder 
 And the sun shone hot above, 
 
 God in His understanding 
 Gave him the gift of Love.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 103 
 
 At last when he grew weary 
 And panted for each breath 
 
 God in His tender mercy 
 
 Sent him his last gift Death! 
 
 Perhaps if I had begun earlier I might 
 have tried to write seriously. I must 
 possess the cacoeihes scribendi or I 
 should not in my lonely hours unburden 
 my heart by writing unposted letters 
 to my son. 
 
 I was all too interested in your 
 father's short career to bother about one 
 of my own. He used to let me correct 
 some of his proofs high honour! And 
 sometimes I would shyly make a sugges- 
 tion, and sometimes he would adopt it. 
 
 But Fleet Street, he used to say, is 
 no place for a woman, and not much of 
 a place for a man. The old bohemian- 
 ism is dead. The new bohemianism is 
 debased by the halfpenny press. Men 
 of letters are few and far between, and 
 have withdrawn into mountain fast-
 
 104 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 nesses where they can be heard bewail- 
 ing the price of bread. 
 
 So perhaps it's just as well that I 
 confine myself to making money in the 
 thriftiest way by saving it. For you, 
 darling. 
 
 Which reminds me that, so far, my 
 coal bill has been nearly nil. I do all 
 my cooking on an oil-stove. And when 
 it's rather extra cold, as it is at the 
 present moment, I put my feet on a 
 cushion, wrap myself in a rug, and warm 
 my fingers by blowing on them. 
 
 I had to tell a lie yesterday afternoon. 
 
 Captain dropped in unexpectedly. 
 
 He seldom comes without first letting 
 me know. I hadn't a fire anywhere in 
 the house, and I couldn't ask him into 
 the kitchen where the tiny oil-stove was 
 alight. Nor could I pretend it was 
 warm, because it was one of the coldest 
 days we've had this winter. I put a 
 match to the drawing-room fire at once,
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 105 
 
 and apologized for the chilliness by say- 
 ing I had a fire in my bedroom. Before 
 I knew what he was going to do he had 
 taken my hands in his just for a mo- 
 ment to feel them. 
 
 "God forgive you, you sweet liar," 
 he said. "If that boy of yours doesn't 
 thank you in after years he ought to 
 be He was too moved to finish the 
 sentence. 
 
 Darling, darling! I don't ask you to 
 thank me in after years. I only want 
 you to love me always. I only want to 
 be proud of you. I want to do what 
 your father would have done for you. 
 
 What is cold or hunger or a little 
 privation? I am the mother of a son, 
 and there is glory in my heart.
 
 On Dreams 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 you dream, Son? And what are 
 your dreams? 
 
 It is night, and I suppose you are 
 asleep. 
 
 How people's dreams vary! They 
 vary as much as the leaves on a tree 
 not one alike. 
 
 Do you ever dream of me? Some- 
 times when I'm sitting idle at night, 
 a little too tired to read or sew, I 
 try and will myself into your dreams. 
 I hope I haven't come in at an in- 
 opportune moment. I should hate to 
 spoil a fine catch, or a big hit, even 
 in a dream. But on the other hand 
 it would be jolly to arrive in time to 
 divert a swishing, or write your impot 
 
 106
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 107 
 
 for you, or make some wrong come 
 right. 
 
 But I suppose if you do dream your 
 dreams are of Games and Boys, and not 
 of the mother who is yearning for you 
 at a distance. You love her sensibly 
 and properly as a boy should. She's 
 very nice to see in the holidays, and a 
 good pal considering she's a woman. 
 And you're proud to be seen about with 
 her on Speech Days, because even the 
 masters thought she was your sister; 
 but she doesn't absorb your waking or 
 dreaming life. She has her proper place 
 in the special niche where boys and men 
 keep their mothers and sisters. It is 
 only in after years that the niche is 
 transformed into a shrine, made beauti- 
 ful by the pale flowers of memory or 
 the withered leaves of regret. 
 
 As a sign of perfect health perhaps it 
 is best you should not dream at all. 
 But I cannot help thinking that the
 
 io8 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 person whose sleep is dreamless must b 
 something of a dull dog. Even dogs 
 dream dogs of any imagination, that 
 is. 
 
 Indeed, dogs dream a lot. One can 
 tell that by the twitching of their limbs 
 as they lie asleep, their muted barks and 
 whines. The reason why they dream 
 so much is obvious. Light sleep is the 
 dream-sleep. Deep sleep is dreamless. 
 Dogs sleep very lightly. So it is with 
 human beings. 
 
 It seems to me there is not a moment 
 of my sleep-time that I do not dream. 
 They are mostly nonsensical visions: 
 I am a girl at school, or I have dis- 
 covered untold wealth in the shape of 
 jewels and gold, or I'm serenely driving 
 a motor car and suddenly discover I 
 neither know how to turn round or stop, 
 and oddly enough it doesn't distress me 
 in the least. 
 
 Once I dreamt I was a mutton-chop.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 109 
 
 A most ridiculous dream. I was going 
 to be served for your father's lunch, and 
 all the time Cookie was trimming and 
 preparing me I suffered a nightmare fear 
 lest I should be tough! 
 
 Your father, who was a good shot and 
 loved shooting, had one stock dream. 
 He would give a short, sharp shout and 
 a spasmodic kick, and I would wake 
 him up and ask what was the matter. 
 
 "Oof! Stepped on a rabbit!" he 
 would mumble, and go to sleep again. 
 
 Sometimes my dreams are sad. Once 
 I dreamt that you had died, darling. 
 And I sat with empty hands and a heart 
 like a waste of waters. 
 
 Oftenest of all I dream that your 
 father is alive. The same dream, 
 always. 
 
 In this dream I am wandering some- 
 where about the house always the 
 Old House, never here and suddenly, 
 unexpectedly, I come face to face with
 
 i io THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 my heart's beloved. A cry is strangled 
 in my throat. I rush into his arms. I 
 feel them close round me tightly, and 
 I smell the dear familiar peaty odour 
 of Connemara tweeds. 
 
 "I thought you were dead!" I sob, 
 laughing and crying, "I thought you 
 were dead!" 
 
 He laughs then, boyishly, reassuring- 
 ly, with the touch of tenderness he 
 always showed when emotion had hold 
 of me. 
 
 "Silly little woman! Always dream- 
 ing! And what a nonsensical dream! 
 I'm here. Don't cry, you goose. Dead 
 men can't kiss. Dead men haven't 
 arms to hold you. Wake up. It's 
 only a dream!" 
 
 And I do wake, choking. 
 
 I sit up in bed, the loved voice still 
 echoing in my ears, still smelling the 
 peaty tweeds. 
 
 Where am I? Where is he? Which
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME in 
 
 is the dream ? The dream or the reality ? 
 I grope for matches, light the candle to 
 find myself in the "best bedroom" of 
 a rented villa, with nothing left me of 
 my life's dream but the faded photo- 
 graph of a man by my bedside, and a 
 son at a public school. 
 
 I cannot tell you the torture of that 
 dream. Every night I dread its coming. 
 For, when it does, I know that it is a 
 dream, and that for one brief moment I 
 shall believe it is not a dream to wake 
 and find that it is a dream ! 
 
 But one day, one day, oh my heart, 
 I shall dream it for the last time, know- 
 ing that I dream it for the last time, and 
 I shall wake .
 
 On a First Term at College 
 (Posted) 
 
 PVEAREST : 
 
 *-*' Public school is behind you. You 
 are no longer a lanky boy in swallow tails 
 and a peculiar straw hat, but a full- 
 fledged undergrad. Will the sudden 
 emancipation from school restraint to 
 the comparative liberty of college life be 
 a danger to you? I hope not. Still, 
 you must go carefully, like a young horse 
 learning his paces. Give him his lead 
 too soon and he will come down. You 
 mustn't come a cropper. 
 
 I'm afraid this must be rather a 
 preachy letter, dear. If your father 
 were alive, he would have taken you 
 into his study and talked to you man's 
 talk to a man-child. He most certainly 
 
 112
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 113 
 
 would have put you up to things that I, 
 being a woman, can't. So, poor sub- 
 stitute though I am, I must try and 
 point out to you the tremendous import- 
 ance of the next few years in your life. 
 
 I am very seldom able to say serious 
 things to you. When you are at home, 
 so big and tall, and more and more like 
 your father, I feel such a little mother, 
 and your manner is so grown-up and 
 protecting that the wise words won't 
 come. I'm so afraid the idea of my 
 advising you will strike you as ludicrous. 
 Still, I've got to do my best. 
 
 At the varsity you are going to find 
 out for the first time the real meaning 
 of money. Not only its value for pur- 
 chasing purposes but how much or how 
 little other people think of you accord- 
 ing to the amount you possess. You 
 won't need to go about with a placard 
 round your neck announcing the size 
 of your income. The densest of people
 
 ii4 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 in common with the clever ones have 
 this peculiar gift: they know whether 
 you are rich or poor. I think it is the 
 one surviving instinct of the savage 
 state. We have lost all the others and 
 developed this one to an incredible 
 degree. 
 
 Poverty or wealth, like the heel of 
 Achilles, is humanity's vulnerable spot. 
 Therefore don't try to hide it. Yours 
 is the heel of comparative poverty. It 
 is nothing to be ashamed of. Only 
 vulgar people try to cover it up : gentle- 
 men never do. At the varsity and also 
 in later life you will make this discovery : 
 that a frank admission of slender means 
 makes other people credit you with 
 honesty and like you all the better for 
 it. 
 
 I tell you this because you will meet 
 a certain number of the vulgar ones 
 who -foolishly strive to conceal their 
 poverty and also some of the few who go
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 115 
 
 through life flaunting their wealth. I 
 don't know which are the more con- 
 temptible. The worst for you at Cam- 
 bridge will be the sons of wealthy 
 parvenus. Wealthy parvenus and their 
 offspring are more blatant than they 
 used to be, now that they can get into 
 the universities. Once they couldn't, 
 or they had no ambitions that way. 
 Then the universities existed solely for 
 the sons of gentlemen. 
 
 I daresay the parvenu's son is often 
 decent enough; but equally often he 
 isn't. His home environment is wrong. 
 He has no traditions behind him. He 
 holds the mistaken idea that money puts 
 him on a level with birth. Rather 
 higher in fact. The worst of it is he is 
 often encouraged in that idea by syco- 
 phantic young snobs who sponge on him. 
 It inflates him with his own importance 
 and makes him look down on his supe- 
 riors in birth and brains, just as the
 
 n 6 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 over-educated Hindu ends by thinking 
 slightingly of our race. But in both 
 cases the veneer is very thin. Scratch 
 it and you expose the uncivilization of 
 the native and the ignoble soul of the 
 plebeian boy. 
 
 At school the moral damage that a 
 child of ready-made wealth can accom- 
 plish is limited to his pocket money. 
 But at the university his allowance op- 
 ulence to a person of moderate means 
 makes him a danger to others. At home 
 he has grown accustomed to hear his 
 father talk of money: now that he 
 has it he can't resist making "money 
 talk." And because he is young and 
 foolish, because his tastes are unrefined, 
 and because his instincts are not manly, 
 he makes it talk badly. He makes it 
 speak in terms of extravagance expen- 
 sive meals, champagne, loud friendships, 
 low associations, unnatural gaiety 
 all the things that are not nice.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 117 
 
 It ie this type of person you should 
 avoid. When you are older you will 
 avoid him instinctively, classing him as 
 a ' ' howling cad " or an " awful bounder. ' ' 
 Which reminds me that what I said 
 about the over-educated Hindu is only 
 meant to apply to the native student 
 in India. I know that many of the 
 Orientals at Cambridge and Oxford are 
 quite what the Americans call "white 
 men." 
 
 Perhaps, after all, I need not have 
 urged all this. You know plenty of 
 other men who have gone up to Cam- 
 bridge this term men of your own 
 class. You are bound to foregather 
 with them from choice. I also hope 
 that you'll attend lectures and study 
 enough to make quite sure of your 
 "Little-go. " I don't want you to swat, 
 dear, nor to neglect such things as row- 
 ing, cricket and ' ' rugger. " There's time 
 for all and each.
 
 ii8 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 You don't say whether you are a wet- 
 bob or not. Of course I would dearly 
 like you to get a place in the varsity 
 boat, and one day see you paddling 
 back from Mortlake, one of the winning 
 crew. But that's looking a long way 
 ahead. It will be time enough to think 
 of that when your college boat has 
 bumped its way to the top of the 
 river. What I'm thinking of just now 
 is sitting in a skiff next May with 
 you pulling me along those delightful 
 "backs." 
 
 I knew your batting was better than 
 you thought. I suppose it's that late 
 cut of yours that has helped to get you 
 into the Fresher's eleven? I specially 
 want to see you one day at Lord's 
 lifting them over the Pavilion! I know 
 I shall make a silly of myself, howling 
 with joy if you do. 
 
 I'm glad you were lucky enough to get 
 rooms in college. It must be better to
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 119 
 
 be at the mercy of your "bedder" than 
 a rapacious landlady. I much prefer 
 too the airy simplicity of your quarters 
 in to the stuffiness of lodgings 
 
 with their hideous wall-papers and 
 gimcrack furniture. And then again 
 how infinitely inferior is the confined 
 view of a dull street to the green and 
 quiet beauty of the quad which your 
 windows overlook. I daresay rooms in 
 college mean that you are subjected to 
 a little stricter discipline, but I shan't 
 sympathize with you about that. You 
 share it with a lot of other men better 
 than yourself. 
 
 Do be regular at morning chapel. 
 Don't get proctorized and don't get 
 gated more than you can help! Only 
 milksops steer completely clear of these 
 two troubles, I suppose. I don't want 
 you to be a milksop. Keep to the happy 
 mean. In joining the Union you did 
 exactly what I wished. But go there
 
 120 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 to listen and ultimately to speak. It 
 has been a nursery for some of the best 
 of English orators. Who knows but 
 that one day you will get into Parlia- 
 ment. Then the amateur politics of 
 the Union will have been a fine ground- 
 work for you to base professional ones 
 on. It is also good training for the 
 Bar. 
 
 Talking of politics and the Bar re- 
 minds me that your father would have 
 taken History and Roman Law for his 
 tripos had he gone up to Cambridge. 
 He used to say that a sound knowledge 
 of these two subjects was all-important 
 to anyone engaged in literary work, and 
 equally essential to the politician. To 
 that he added that ignorance of the 
 lessons of history bred sedition, and was 
 responsible for all the frothy, meaning- 
 less tub-thumping of demagogues. It's 
 early yet for you to decide on a career, 
 but if you find you have a leaning to-
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 121 
 
 wards either literature, politics or the 
 Bar, there is your sainted father's 
 recipe for attaining success in any one 
 of the three.
 
 On a Twenty-First Birthday 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 PVEAREST : 
 
 ' I wish it had not been term-time, 
 so that I could have had my twenty-one- 
 year-old giant at home to congratulate 
 and kiss. As it is you will have been 
 twenty-one quite a good few hours by 
 the time you receive this and the little 
 parcel of relics which I send with all 
 my heart's love. The watch was your 
 father's, and I beg of you to treasure it. 
 I know you will at first. It's old- 
 fashioned and not keyless, but don't 
 let those two shortcomings make you 
 think less of it. Its value apart from 
 its intrinsic good qualities ought to 
 lie in its associations. It was your 
 father's father's, so don't part with it. 
 
 122
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 123 
 
 If ever you should be tempted to do so 
 and it's no good shutting one's eyes to 
 the fact that young men are sometimes 
 tempted to part with things just stop 
 and think for one moment. You will 
 hear my voice say "Keep it." 
 
 I hope you will like the ring. I have 
 taken out the license for you to wear it. 
 I like our motto, don't you? Nee venale 
 auro. Not to be bought with gold! 
 That's old-fashioned too the senti- 
 ment, I mean. A nouveau riche in 
 search of armorial bearings would steer 
 clear of such a motto! Another reason 
 for pride in it. 
 
 And, last of all, I'm sending you your 
 father's copy of Roget's Thesaurus. 
 " The literary man's prompter," I once 
 heard it called. Whether you decide 
 to be literary or not you will find it 
 useful. There is not a page in it that 
 your father's eyes have not conned, not 
 an alternative word that he has not
 
 124 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 pondered over at some time or other. 
 He was such a stylist, such a stickler 
 for the right word in the right place. 
 Here and there you will find pencil 
 marks and notes. Even now, after the 
 long years it has lain unused, I can still 
 faintly smell the tobacco of which it was 
 redolent. 
 
 God bless you, my darling boy. To- 
 day you come into nothing more sub- 
 stantial than manhood's estate. It is 
 a vast heritage for all that. You hold 
 it for life virgin soil to cultivate as you 
 will. You were born at three o'clock 
 on a summer's morning. I remember 
 that dawn so well. I remember your 
 being placed in my arms. I remember 
 being almost afraid of your littleness. 
 I remember the wonderful, indescribable 
 emotion that thrilled me when I saw 
 your little downy head nestling in my 
 arm. I had to repeat over and over 
 to myself, "You are a mother. This is
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 125 
 
 your very own baby," before I could 
 believe it was really all true. I had 
 a dream-like sensation that I should 
 wake up and find I was a little girl who 
 had gone to bed with her dolly. 
 
 Curiously enough I wasn't a bit 
 anxious to know whether you were a boy 
 or a girl. I forgot to ask. After some 
 time your father came up and drew the 
 bedclothes away from your face and 
 looked at you. How he looked! And 
 then he kissed me and whispered: 
 "Thank you so much, my darling-dear, 
 for our little son. " 
 
 "Oh, is it a boy?" I asked. 
 
 And even the nurse laughed. 
 
 I tell you these most intimate things 
 because they concern you. They are 
 the baby memories every mother keeps 
 with the put-away baby clothes. 
 
 I remember too, as I held you in my 
 arms, how I marvelled just to lie and 
 watch you breathing. It was wonderful !
 
 126 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 And now you are twenty-one, a 
 brawny six-footer, with a man's voice 
 and a man's ways, and sometimes it is 
 difficult to credit you could ever have 
 been that helpless little lump of flesh, 
 my baby. 
 
 I want to tell you before I finish this 
 letter, dear, how pleased and proud you 
 have made me in all these years. I 
 don't think you have ever forgotten 
 that I am your little widowed mother. 
 Not even when you were a small boy. 
 And in your school life, too, I have 
 reason to be thankful. You've been 
 a brick, son! Your father would have 
 been so pleased and proud. He want- 
 ed you to be a good all-round work- 
 er and player. I have always carried 
 these words of his in my memory, and 
 I tell them to you now that you 
 are old enough to appreciate them. 
 Take them as his birthday wish, 
 darling :
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 127 
 
 " / want my son to go through life with 
 a straight bat." 
 
 Your 
 
 MOTHER.
 
 On Sentence of Death 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 A /I Y darling-dear: 
 
 * * * It is springtime. The world is 
 young again and instinct with new life. 
 The morning air is full of the earthy, 
 scented, dewy smell of growing things. 
 Languorous lilac and truculent tulip 
 are making my garden gay. The room 
 is flooded with spring sunshine. The 
 curtains are fluttered by a little volup- 
 tuous wind, warmed by a hint of summer 
 yet to come. 
 
 But I am cold, and my heart feels 
 numbed. For I am going to die. Al- 
 ready I swing in the scale between life 
 and death, and the weights are against 
 me. Twenty-one years ago I longed 
 to die, but now I cling to life because I 
 128
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 129 
 
 do so urgently want a glimpse of what it 
 may hold for you before I go. I have 
 had so much to do with the building of 
 the ship. It is cruel to think I may 
 have to set out on my eternal voyage 
 before I have seen you launched on 
 yours. 
 
 It resolves itself into this. After 
 being worried so persistently by you 
 
 and Cookie and Captain to let 
 
 myself be "thoroughly overhauled" by 
 a competent man, I at last made up my 
 mind to satisfy you all. And so I went 
 to town to consult a specialist. His 
 verdict means that as I cannot afford 
 to be expensively ill I must resign my- 
 self to not getting well. 
 
 I've been growing used to the idea, 
 living with it, for over a week, and I am 
 tolerably resigned to it, except when 
 the sunshine floods the room as it 
 does now, and the birds are singing with 
 such frantic joyousness. After all, such
 
 130 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 feelings are natural conquered nature 
 making her last stand against disease. 
 When the end comes, no doubt I shall 
 be glad to go. Physical pain is so 
 wearing. But my very life has been 
 forged upon the anvils of pain. A 
 little more or less, what does it matter? 
 
 The interview with the specialist was 
 an ordeal I should not care to go through 
 again. It is no good hiding things from 
 one's medical man or one's lawyer. 
 
 Before this man I had to show myself 
 as I am, stripped of the soft clinging 
 clothes which make of me in your eyes 
 "a little girl-mother." I have not the 
 contours of girlhood, darling. I am 
 pitifully gaunt beneath the folds. 
 
 The first thing my blunt physician 
 told me as is so often the case, his 
 bluntness hid a kind heart was that 
 I neglected to nourish myself properly. 
 Then he reeled off a list of expensive 
 things in the way of diet, and ended by
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 131 
 
 prescribing a sea-voyage, which he said 
 I ought to have taken long ago. He 
 worked himself into quite a fury over 
 my "self-neglect." It did not take me 
 very long to see that he was trying to 
 harden his heart before dealing the 
 fatal blow. 
 
 "I've always eaten when I've been 
 hungry," I told him. 
 
 He accused me of doing nothing to 
 tempt a flagging appetite and of defer- 
 ring to seek medical advice. Suddenly 
 he fired out : 
 
 "Good heavens, my dear woman, do 
 you think I don't know how you've been 
 racked with pain? Why didn't you 
 come to me before?" 
 
 "What is the matter with me now?" 
 I asked. 
 
 He told me. 
 
 It was only one word. Women of my 
 age dread it. 
 
 I kept a grip on myself and heard him
 
 132 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 out. Briefly it was this: I must either 
 undergo a costly operation and be a 
 semi-invalid for the rest of my life or 
 dispense with the operation and let 
 things take their irretrievable course. 
 
 I said I would think it over. I went 
 home. 
 
 But directly I had figured out the 
 expense I knew I should have to forego 
 the operation. I could not and would 
 not go to a free hospital, nor would 
 I accept financial help from our best 
 friend, because he is a man, and because 
 I have old-fashioned prejudices about 
 a woman taking money from a man. 
 
 I have enough saved. But to draw 
 upon it for myself would curtail the 
 allowance I make you at college. It 
 would mean that you would have to go 
 down without taking your degree. If 
 I let you do that all my sacrifices would 
 have been made in vain. 
 
 Therefore I dare not tell you the truth,
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 133 
 
 and I have posted you a letter assuring 
 you that the doctor's verdict was quite 
 favourable : a white lie for which I shall 
 surely be forgiven. Here I can write 
 what I like. You will not see the un- 
 posted letters my loneliness has prompted 
 me to write to you, until after my release. 
 Then I shall not mind. They will per- 
 haps show how I loved you. Better still 
 if they make you comprehend clearly 
 how carefully I have planned everything 
 for your future and the hopes I have 
 cherished. Perhaps that will help you 
 to fulfil them. 
 
 At best, if I take care, I have three or 
 four more years to live. Meanwhile I 
 can only pray for strength and fortitude 
 to keep the truth from you. I am 
 afraid my dying will not be easy. 
 
 Now I think of it, what a little of your 
 life I have had, my son. More than 
 half of it thirteen years has had to 
 be spent away from me, and the next
 
 134 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 few! Oh, I shall be so greedy of the 
 vacations! 
 
 I have made my will. I have left 
 instructions that my ashes be mingled 
 with those of my beloved husband and 
 then scattered to the winds. All of us 
 that is earthly borne on God's air 
 imponderable specks of dust to fall, 
 perhaps on some fragrant flower; to 
 become again part of the panorama of 
 inanimate nature. There is compensa- 
 tion in the thought. It helps to rob 
 death of its sting. 
 
 Interment as we usually practise it 
 is a noxious thing. I wish our bodies 
 could vanish together with the last 
 breath they draw, and so save others 
 the sad task of disposing of them. But 
 I suppose that would make it too easy 
 for murderers ! 
 
 I have always shrunk from the idea of 
 being placed six feet below the earth in a 
 common burying-ground with strangers
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 135 
 
 whom I never knew in life. Why should 
 I therefore lie with them in death? 
 My living body recoils from the thought 
 of being placed in a wooden husk to 
 decay with me. I could only become 
 reconciled to burial were it possible to 
 lie asleep with only the sod over my 
 face, my mound solitary, encircled by a 
 garden of sweet flowers and perfumes, 
 wherein my spirit might sometimes 
 walk. 
 
 Contemplation of the paraphernalia 
 of death the hearse, the carriages, the 
 sombre trappings of outward woe jar 
 upon my sensibilities. 
 
 I am foolish and womanish to dwell 
 on this aspect of a thing that will have 
 ceased to concern me as soon as it has 
 taken place. I ought to be entranced 
 with the possibilities of all that eternity 
 may hold, of the wider knowledge I shall 
 soon possess. 
 
 Death cannot be the end of things. I
 
 am convinced of that. But I do not 
 crave a wider, deeper knowledge of what 
 comes after it. I should be so content 
 with a little special, private heaven. I 
 can conceive nothing more joyous than 
 this: To live forever with your father 
 in the house of our dreams it need not 
 be made with hands to be a real one. 
 To wait for you, to meet you at our 
 Garden Gate when your life was done, 
 to hear its happenings. And then 
 through eternity to be together, you in 
 your heaven, we in ours, with a con- 
 veniently communicating staircase be- 
 tween. 
 
 I have just been into my bit of a gar- 
 den, coaxed out by the rapt beginning of 
 spring. It is only a little villa plot, but 
 all the same brave with colour. The 
 one apple-tree in it relic of a departed 
 orchard is a mass of blossom. Other 
 trees are like brides tremulous in white 
 veils. How I would love to wander in
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 137 
 
 the grounds of our old house, let for 
 so many years now to strangers. Kind 
 old house yielding us an income! You 
 will go back to it, darling. Please God 
 you will one day take your wife to it, as 
 your father took me. Your children 
 will be born in it. Little hands will play 
 with the old toys lying in the nursery 
 cupboard; little feet will scamper down 
 the moss-grown paths. I shall not be 
 there to hear them. . . . 
 
 Cookie back again for good and all 
 came in a moment ago, slippers and a 
 shawl in her hand. 
 
 "There now, ma'am, I knew your 
 shoes would be soaked through and 
 through," she chided, flopped down on 
 her knees, and changed them. "The 
 grass is always soaking in the mornings. 
 You'll catch your death." 
 
 She was on her feet again as she spoke 
 that last sentence, with her eyes on
 
 138 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 mine. She read something in them. I 
 suppose I could not keep it out. 
 
 "Cookie " I began, and could not 
 go on. 
 
 With a cry she took me to her dear 
 bunchy print bosom, put her strong, 
 capable arms round me, as if she would 
 hold me back from my fate by the sheer 
 force of her homely love. 
 
 "I've seen it coming!" she choked. 
 "Oh, my little mistress!" 
 
 There are moments when sympathy, 
 be it that of faithful servant or nearer 
 friend, is what the comfort of the angels 
 must have been to Christ in His Agony. 
 
 I am the better for the tears we shed 
 together. 
 
 Dear old Cookie will have red eyes foi 
 the rest of the day, and the tradespeople 
 will think I have been scolding her! 
 
 Why do living people shrink from 
 looking upon the dead? Death is out-
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 139 
 
 wardly beautiful; it is only decay that 
 is ghastly. There is a peace and 
 majesty beyond words upon the faces 
 of the dead. 
 
 When I am dead, dearest, if the love 
 you bore me living is not strong enough 
 to bring you to take a last look at me 
 dead, for pity's sake do not force your- 
 self to do so out of a sense of duty. It 
 would pain me to think that your gaze 
 would be reluctant, or that you would 
 not be able to kiss me without a shudder. 
 My lips have been pressed with rapture 
 by your father, and I would have his 
 son kiss them with lingering love at the 
 last, or not at all.
 
 On a First Effort in Literature 
 (Posted) 
 
 IV A Y dearest Boy : 
 
 * * * The Review with your article 
 
 in it was on my breakfast table this morn- 
 ing. When I turned to the contents page 
 your name leapt out at me, although it 
 was in exactly the same type as the rest. 
 It is your first serious contribution to 
 a recognized journal for thinking people, 
 and as such I cannot fail to be proud of 
 you and it this, your first flight into 
 literature proper. Of course it has great 
 merit, otherwise it would not have 
 been accepted for such a good publica- 
 tion. "The Educational Significance 
 of Imperialism " you have tackled a 
 big subject, and, if I am competent to 
 judge, you have done excellently. 
 140
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 141 
 
 What pleases me most, however, is 
 the style in which it is written. Style 
 is a wonderful gift. You have it, just 
 as your father had it. Is it hereditary 
 I wonder? that rare ability for saying 
 exactly what you mean in the choicest 
 words. Of one thing I am sure: you 
 would not at your age have shown your- 
 self possessed of it without a knowledge 
 of the classics. Even your limited 
 reading of the Greek and Roman writers 
 shows in the article. So now you have 
 a tangible illustration of the advantage 
 of a university education. It has al- 
 ways seemed to me that the best form of 
 literary expression comes from the uni- 
 versities. A great many self-educated 
 men are credited by uncritical people 
 with the gift of style, but it is not really 
 that: it is native eloquence quite a 
 different thing. It may carry one away 
 but it is not always art. 
 
 Yes, I am proud of you, proud of
 
 142 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 being your mother. I get the reflected 
 glory, you see! My saying that won't 
 give you "swelled head," I know. If 
 you're in danger of a touch of that 
 
 ailment turn to 's article on , 
 
 and 's on , and you'll get 
 
 cured. I'm not trying to belittle your 
 work, only pointing out how fine theirs 
 is, and how long they have been in making 
 their literary reputations. 
 
 What I like, too, about your paper 
 (isn't that the proper technical way of 
 speaking of it?) is its suggestiveness. 
 You touch on so many interesting 
 subjects, showing that you could write 
 of them with authority. I admire 
 versatility in a man. Women never 
 seem to have it. A curious thing about 
 women, moreover, is that even when 
 they stick to one subject they are seldom 
 thorough at it, never so thorough as a 
 man. A woman hasn't the same close 
 attentiveness of mind as a man. She
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 143 
 
 invariably fails to keep to the channel 
 of thought. Don't I, a woman, illus- 
 trate that? I'm rambling now. Yes, 
 we are impractical creatures, and we 
 need man to keep us in order. 
 
 That is why I am quite indifferent 
 about Woman's Suffrage. We may 
 have as much right to a vote as the 
 unintelligent labourer, but that would 
 be a poor reason for giving us one. Two 
 wrongs do not make a right. Universal 
 suffrage is an absurdity. People don't 
 give their domestic servants the right 
 to dictate how the household shall be 
 run. The average servant is not capable 
 of management. Why then should the 
 much bigger affairs of a country be 
 mainly in the hands of its least intelli- 
 gent class? The Suffragette's reply, I 
 suppose, would be that her intelligence is 
 infinitely higher than that of a labourer. 
 I daresay it is; but imagine a woman 
 playing at statesmanship! How long
 
 144 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 would she keep her head if the country 
 were scared by. the cry of "War!" or 
 "A Mouse!" No, what women need 
 are husbands, not votes! 
 
 I am going off the track again! I 
 must be getting old ! 
 
 By the way, dear, you said something 
 about spending half of the vac. with 
 S . Of course I shall be disap- 
 pointed not to have you with me, but 
 you must do as you like. 
 
 Mothers are always so greedy. Still, 
 there are reasons why I want you extra 
 badly. You will know them one day. 
 Can't S come to us instead? 
 
 I know it's only a villa, but Cookie's 
 so first-class you can forget that. Cap- 
 tain says you two can have his car 
 
 all the time. Do come, darling! 
 Your devoted 
 
 MOTHER.
 
 On Success 
 (Posted) 
 
 1\ A Y darling Boy : 
 
 * Your telegram which arrived too 
 late for delivery last night, came with 
 the letters this morning. I was in my 
 bath when the charwoman who comes 
 in the morning pushed my correspond- 
 ence under the door. At sight of the 
 pink form, like Venus rising from the sea, 
 I leapt out and seized it, not even stop- 
 ping to dry my hands. I knew what it 
 was about. Have I thought of any- 
 thing else for the last fortnight? Success 
 or failure? And then I saw in the joyful 
 words, so full of meaning to you and me 
 and nothing whatever to the telegraph- 
 ist (she otherwise surely couldn't have 
 helped adding a "hurrah" of her own): 
 
 10 145
 
 146 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 " First class." 
 
 Oh, I was proud ! Oh, I was thankful ! 
 I knelt on the floor, all dripping, and 
 prayed for sheer joy: Honours! And 
 first class at that! I dressed in a 
 flutter and sent you my answering wire 
 as soon as I got downstairs. After 
 that I invited Captain to dinner 
 to tell him the great news. I had 
 promised him I would. We had the 
 bottle of champagne which I have been 
 treasuring up for this very occasion. 
 
 We drank your health. We clinked 
 glasses across the table we two silly old 
 people and sang in voices tuneless with 
 emotion, "For he's a jolly good fellow." 
 
 Late into the night we sat and talked 
 about your Career. Yesterday was 
 such an event in your life. I had to 
 discuss it with a man. I needed a man's 
 help. Happily I have it. This man 
 has been a faithful friend to us, dear; 
 one of the best, one of the few.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 147 
 
 He was as keen about your future as 
 your own dear father would have been. 
 At first I was too excited to talk sensibly. 
 My hopes and my ambitions for you ran 
 away with me, I mapped out your 
 prospects in extravagant terms. There 
 was nothing you were not to attain to. 
 I was very silly, and deserved the pull- 
 ing up I got. 
 
 Captain brought me down from 
 
 the clouds. (I wish I had a man's 
 control; and yet at this moment I 
 wouldn't change my exuberant mother's 
 feelings for all the masculine wisdom 
 and logic in the world!) I had to curb 
 my impatience and listen to his sane 
 views. Soon you would be down from 
 Cambridge, your education completed 
 but your future undetermined. Your 
 prospects were like a constellation in the 
 nebulous state. They might be dis- 
 sipated in space, or converted into a 
 star of magnitude. (I sat restlessly
 
 148 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 drumming my fingers on the table while 
 he spoke.) They must not be left to 
 chance. Had I determined on any 
 particular career for you? None defi- 
 nitely. To think of you as the Lord 
 Chancellor or the Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury or the Poet Laureate at a jump 
 was a fairy tale. One had to begin at 
 the other, the small, end. 
 
 What should it be? Business? No. 
 The Services, the Bar, the Church, the 
 medical profession? I didn't know. 
 I couldn't make up my mind. I wanted 
 you to be a gallant soldier or sailor, a 
 leading Counsel, a great divine, a famous 
 doctor, a scientific genius, and a great 
 painter all at once. I wasn't sure that 
 I should be satisfied even then. There 
 was Music, Literature, Exploration, 
 Engineering, Parliament 
 
 He stopped me there. How did a 
 parliamentary training appeal to me? 
 I wondered how long it would be before
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 149 
 
 you could be Prime Minister. Before 
 I had time to answer he said he might 
 be able to get you a private secretary- 
 ship to a friend of his, a M.P. A salary 
 of 150 a year would go with it, and 
 you could make something at literature 
 in addition. Your duties as secretary 
 would not be unduly heavy ; the position 
 was a decent one; you would meet the 
 right sort of people; you would have 
 considerable spare time. 
 
 It sounded delightful to me. Does 
 it to you? You would have chambers 
 in the Temple, and make "Fleet Street" 
 your bedfellow! Of course this private 
 secretaryship is in the air at present, 
 and we mustn't count on it, though I 
 know my dear friend well enough to be 
 satisfied that he would not have pro- 
 posed it unless he had something to 
 go on. Think what it might lead to: 
 an under-secretaryship to a Minister; a 
 constituency of your own; perhaps a
 
 150 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 post under Government! I firmly be- 
 lieve the Premiership is not so far off 
 after all! 
 
 Your delighted 
 
 MOTHER.
 
 On London and its Dangers 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 pvEAREST - -: 
 
 * ' When I said good-bye to you this 
 afternoon I tried so hard to be matter- 
 of-fact and not look weepy, but I was 
 bursting to tell you to be careful of the 
 motor-buses. Ever since it has been 
 definitely settled you are to live in town 
 I have done nothing but read about 
 "Street Dangers." What I see in the 
 papers makes my eyes dilate and my 
 heart palpitate. Most women and in 
 this category you must count me 
 are as constitutionally timid of traffic 
 as they are of cows. And yet I know 
 it is no good telling you to be careful. 
 You'll exercise as much care as the 
 average young man with an agile pair of
 
 152 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 legs, and no more. Beyond that, as in 
 all other things, you will take your risk. 
 I feel so impotent. I want to safeguard 
 you from every danger under the sun. 
 
 I'm sure the zenana custom originated 
 in a man's desire to protect his women- 
 kind, and not from the purely selfish 
 standpoint of hiding his womenkind 
 from other male eyes. We women would 
 dearly like to protect our sons and 
 husbands in some similar manner, not 
 because we do not feel we can trust 
 them, but for the simple reason that the 
 world in general cannot possibly regard 
 them as the wonderful beings we do. 
 
 I know it is absurd of me to be so 
 apprehensive. My "fear of ill exceeds 
 the ill I fear." I'll try and forget 
 it. 
 
 I am delighted that you are going to 
 start life under such promising condi- 
 tions. It is good that you should live 
 in London and gain your first serious
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 153 
 
 experience of life in the most cosmopoli- 
 tan city of the world. 
 
 One of two things is sure to make its 
 impression upon you: the grim serious- 
 ness of London or its frivolky. You 
 will not see both at the same time. The 
 grimness of it was always borne in 
 upon me most forcibly while driving 
 through the City, where men swarm 
 and women are the exception. Away 
 from those portions where leisured 
 people live it is for the most part a 
 City of set faces, thoughtful, remorseless, 
 tragic, determined, terribly preoccupied; 
 faces of men who are being swamped, 
 who are swamping each other; of men 
 who will succeed, of men who will fail; 
 and all of them men who are grubbing 
 for .gold. Nothing there but what is 
 sordid. But there is a touching side 
 to this tragedy of struggle. If one had 
 eyes to see, one would perceive, rising 
 before the mental vision of these grim
 
 154 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 toilers, faces and forms of soft and tender 
 outline, the appealing faces of women 
 and little children who look to them 
 for bread faces and forms significant 
 of all that is sublime in the lives of the 
 toilers, yet inciting them to. redoubled 
 efforts in the bloodless fight for existence. 
 
 That is London at work. 
 
 The artificial aspect of London as it 
 will first burst upon you is a riot of 
 shouting colour posters, women, thea- 
 tres, restaurants, shop-windows, sky- 
 signs a kaleidoscopic blaze. It is good 
 for the soul if not for the eyes to see the 
 other drab side of it sometimes the 
 gaunt, unilluminated side. Walk on the 
 Embankment ; see the derelicts upon its 
 benches; soak in the heartbreak of the 
 unhappy scene, and wait for dawn. 
 See the wrecks arise and wearily dis- 
 appear into that limbo where the sub- 
 merged ones of a large city pass their 
 waking hours. Night over, mark the
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 155 
 
 sober, steady hundreds going to their 
 daily work. It is not all light laughter, 
 it is not all heartbreak. There's a sane 
 and happy mean. 
 
 London affects one like a strong 
 human book by a ruthless author. 
 Parts of it are so pitiful that you yearn 
 over them : parts so ugly that you hesi- 
 tate to read on : some of it so beautiful 
 that you can forget and forgive the rest. 
 It is life spread thick. 
 
 There is another side of London life 
 its nocturnal side. Unhappily it has 
 a fierce attraction for young men. I 
 want you to avoid it. London by night 
 is a market for gross charms. It dazzles 
 with its electric brilliance and blinds 
 the inexperienced to its tinsel. It gives 
 a false glamour to frailty, makes of its 
 idols false goddesses. Beware of these 
 painted toys. They are not even new. 
 Others before you have played with 
 them in the gutters of the world. But
 
 156 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 a fresh coat of paint and a new dress of 
 tinsel mislead unwary youth. 
 
 Nocturnal city life may almost be 
 called the drug-habit of youth. It saps 
 the body and enervates the mind. 
 Eschew it; it is bad form. If you 
 must be intemperate, wait until your 
 head is stronger, and then confine your- 
 self to the wine of pure vintage. 
 
 In plain words, dear, be very careful 
 of the women you meet, because of the 
 woman you will some day love. One 
 must be worthy to serve at Love's altar. 
 One shudders at the idea of a votary 
 who approaches it with unclean hands. 
 
 Am I lecturing? I suppose so. I 
 don't want to. I only want to put 
 you on your guard against the avoidable 
 the pit-falls that old eyes see but 
 which escape young ones. If you must 
 gamble do it within your means and 
 with men of your own class. Now 
 that you are up for a good club there
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 157 
 
 will be no difficulty about that. You 
 are fairly sure to take to billiards and 
 bridge. I have no prejudices against 
 either, so long as you play them in 
 moderation. With betting on horses 
 it's different. Such knowledge as I 
 have of the turf I got from your father. 
 He had friends who owned race-horses. 
 He knew the turf. He used to say of 
 it that for every genuine sportsman on 
 it there were ten thousand blackguards 
 the scum of the earth. I quote from 
 an article he once wrote. It tells 
 you what I cannot out of my own 
 experience. 
 
 "Racing may once have been the 
 sport of kings. Nowadays, it seems to 
 be the main occupation of rogues and 
 fools. The rogues are the professional 
 element, the people who make a living 
 at it by doubtful means. The fools 
 are those who back other people's horses. 
 Generally they do it at random; often
 
 158 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 in the mistaken belief that they are well- 
 informed. . . . 
 
 "Think how few people you meet 
 who know anything about horses. Even 
 the exceptions, the men and women who 
 hunt, are ignorant of what goes on in 
 a racing stable. They know nothing 
 of training operations or jockeyship. 
 They think of a thoroughbred as a sort 
 of equine greyhound with a satiny skin. 
 The qualities that make him a fast 
 gallopper are hidden from them. They 
 back this horse or that without ever 
 having seen it, without knowing whether 
 it is fit to run or meant to win. . . . 
 
 "The so-called racing experts of the 
 press give their readers a daily 'tip./ 
 The day after they have to devote half 
 a column to explain away the mistake 
 they made! As for professional tip- 
 sters, they wisely prefer to take a shilling 
 or two for their 'special information' 
 rather than back the horse it concerns.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 159 
 
 "And what of the owners? For one 
 gentleman among them there are half- 
 a-dozen German Jews the kind of 
 'sportsmen' who if they were to start 
 off outside a horse would have to come 
 home inside a cab. What can these 
 financiers know of racing beyond its 
 statistics? All they can do is to pay 
 their trainers and jockeys extravagantly 
 to secure them the big advertisement 
 of frequent wins. 
 
 "Bookmakers and professional back- 
 ers own horses. So do other people 
 in assumed names. There are well- 
 known racing men, posing as supporters 
 of 'the honour of the turf,' who owe 
 their success upon it to every form of 
 knavery, from blackmail and card- 
 sharping to 'pulling* the horses they 
 run. You have only to watch the law 
 reports to know which they are. The 
 worst are always the plaintiffs! " 
 
 That ought to be " enough, dearest,
 
 160 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 to dispel any hope you may have cher- 
 ished of winning money by backing 
 horses. I shouldn't have made such a 
 fuss of the question had you not shown 
 such keenness about last year's Derby. 
 Racing proper is the pursuit of country 
 gentlemen of leisure and means, not of a 
 young man who has his way to make in 
 the world. I would dearly love you to 
 hunt. Perhaps that will come, one day. 
 
 I started by trying to tell you about 
 the pitfalls of London life. You see I 
 have got into the country again. That 
 is where, if I had only myself to please, 
 I would rather have you. But I am 
 fully conscious, all the same, that every 
 young man who is to succeed must go 
 to the capital of his country and woo 
 her with his youth. 
 
 So blessings on you, darling, and all, ev- 
 ery bit of my love wherever you may be. 
 Your 
 
 MOTHER.
 
 On a Dark Hour 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 THERE are moments, like today, 
 when I feel bowed to the earth. 
 Nothing that requires time seems worth 
 doing, for I may never be able to finish 
 it. I am losing all interest in life, 
 sinking into a torpor. Is it part of my 
 disease? 
 
 In the morning, when I wake to a 
 fresh day of pain, I ask myself what is 
 the use of dressing and going through the 
 fixed monotonous routine of another 
 day? I shall soon be beyond dressing, 
 beyond hiding my malady. Why not 
 lie still and watch the paper roses bloom- 
 ing on my wall? 
 
 In a mood like this, the most interest- 
 ing book cannot tempt me to look inside 
 
 161
 
 162 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 its covers. Before long, all forms of 
 reading will be beyond me ; no thoughts 
 seem worth thinking or writing. Imag- 
 ination sickens or becomes unhealthy, 
 having nothing to feed on but itself. 
 
 Am I the mother of a son? Or did 
 I dream it? And where is he? And 
 why am I here alone?
 
 On the Desire for Distraction 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 VEAREST 
 
 I am not feeling very well. 
 Consequently, I have a fit of the 
 dumps. The weather is not condu- 
 cive to bright spirits. There is a grey 
 sky, but it is not so grey that there 
 is not a hint of blue in it. There is 
 no sun, but it wants to come out. It 
 is not raining, but it may rain at any 
 moment. 
 
 Look out your socks, my dear boy, 
 and send me a pile to darn. I hope 
 there are great big holes in them, so 
 that I may sew my heart into them for 
 you to stand upon. 
 
 Your 
 
 MOTHER. 
 163
 
 On an Appointment to a Responsible Post 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 M 
 
 Y dearest 
 
 It is most splendid news! Pri- 
 vate secretary to a prominent M.P. ! 
 
 I knew Captain was confident of 
 
 getting you the a'ppointment, in spite 
 of his caution against harbouring false 
 hopes. The future now rests with your- 
 self. Do all that is expected of you. 
 Do more. It will come back to you a 
 hundred-fold. 
 
 There is a splendid future before you. 
 Remember that a politician's success 
 is often largely due to his secretary's 
 erlorts, just as a general's depends on 
 the brains of his chief of staff. You 
 will have a mass of facts to collect, 
 prepare, and arrange. You will be the 
 164
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 165 
 
 Great Man's prompter. Your eyes 
 must always be on the book. Be ac- 
 curate and he won't make mistakes. 
 
 It is quite plain to me that your 
 duties will be a fine education for public 
 life. All the information you will gather 
 for your employer will later on be of 
 incalculable value to yourself, especially 
 if you ultimately take up politics. It 
 will be "ghost" work to begin with; 
 you won't shine in the public eye; but 
 don't let that discourage you. In po- 
 litical circles a good secretary gets his 
 dues. Ministers and party managers 
 are always on the look-out for him. 
 Good places are found for good secre- 
 taries, constituencies often. 
 
 And that reminds me. You will hear 
 much that is hidden from the public, 
 matters that concern public men and 
 the exalted ones of the earth. Be 
 discreet. Keep these things to yourself. 
 You will also meet a lot of important
 
 166 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 people and some powerful ones. Be 
 pleasant wherever you can ; show respect 
 wherever it is due. But don't try and 
 swim with the "big pitchers"; don't 
 show that you want them. A wise 
 aloofness is the better plan, then they 
 may want you. 
 
 I am full of wise saws and golden 
 maxims, this morning, only I can't 
 express them properly. I am too ex- 
 alted about your prospects. I see 
 your future all rosy. I shall dream of 
 Fame for you tonight. 
 
 Now to earth with a sudden drop. 
 
 Why haven't you been down for a 
 single day during the last month? The 
 first week I thought you were ill; the 
 second, pride kept me from asking; the 
 third, I said to myself, "Wait." This 
 is the fourth. 
 
 Why are you stopping in town when 
 you know how I live and long for the 
 all too short Saturday and Sunday with
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 167 
 
 you, darling? You don't tell me any 
 thing. I can only conjecture. It would 
 not fill me with such apprehension did 
 I not remember that hitherto we have 
 both looked forward so much to these 
 short, snatched times together. No 
 mother and son could be more devoted 
 to each other than we are. We have 
 always been such friends. I have never 
 sought a confidence. You have never 
 withheld one. 
 
 Sitting at home alone is weary work, 
 Son. There is nothing to fill my life 
 except you. 
 
 I have a proposition to make. I half 
 hoped it would come from you, but as 
 it has not I won't be backward in mak- 
 ing it myself. 
 
 We cannot go back to the old house. 
 It is too far from London. But there is 
 no reason why we should not have a little 
 flat of our own there, and live together. 
 It would be heaven for me and a home
 
 168 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 for you. It may only be for a little 
 while, but I should so love it, darling. 
 
 You would not find me in the way. 
 I should have a small sitting-room, or 
 failing that my bedroom, so that when 
 you wanted to entertain your bachelor 
 friends, I should not be in the way. 
 We could have Cookie (bless her faith- 
 ful heart), as bonne a toute faire, and 
 between us we'd evolve menus of such 
 excellence that you would be able to 
 give a little dinner sometimes instead 
 of taking your guests to a restaurant. 
 Such a poor form of hospitality that. 
 Personally I would rather eat a modest 
 meal in the comfort of a friend's house 
 than the very best dinner among a crowd 
 of strangers. You may dine at a 
 restaurant with the same party for a 
 week, but you would know them no 
 more intimately at the end of it than at 
 the beginning. The restaurant dinner 
 is overestimated because it is fashion-
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 169 
 
 able. And to pay for what your guests 
 have consumed under their very eyes! 
 Barbaric ! 
 
 Sometimes, darling, we would have a 
 pretty girl or two at our little parties 
 girls like flowers, with roses and lilies 
 in their cheeks, pansy and forget-me-not 
 in their eyes. It would remind us of 
 the country. 
 
 Will you be glad to introduce your 
 mother to your friends sometimes? She 
 will be very proud if you do. 
 
 But some of our evenings we must 
 keep to ourselves. You reading and 
 smoking, I, with needle-work, content 
 to sit and dream. 
 
 Dear, I had to break off rather sud- 
 denly. It is several hours since I began 
 this. You mustn't take me seriously 
 about the flat. I couldn't live in Lon- 
 don. All the more reason why I want 
 you here. Be sure and come this week-
 
 i;o THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 end, my dearest. You need not write 
 again. I shall expect you by the 6.45 
 on Friday night. 
 
 I will ask no questions. There is 
 probably some very good reason why 
 you haven't been down for a whole 
 month, which you will tell me of your 
 own accord. 
 
 Good-night, sweetheart. 
 
 Your loving 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 P. S. I doubt whether you will be able 
 to read these last few lines. I have 
 had rather a bad attack, and it has left 
 me shaky.
 
 On the Rending of the Veil 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 T KNOW now what has kept you away 
 * from me, though no word has pas- 
 sed between us. I knew, the moment 
 I saw you, before I kissed you. That 
 is why I kissed you on the forehead 
 instead of the lips. I knew she was not 
 a good woman. You would have told 
 me everything had it been worthy of 
 being told. You were ashamed. 
 
 My son, you have bartered your man- 
 hood cheaply. It is a dreadful thing 
 to trifle with Love, God's best gift, to 
 treat it as if it were a vile thing in 
 motley. 
 
 "Unspotted from the world." Oh, 
 God ! Not unspotted now ! 
 
 I could cry my heart out. My 
 171
 
 172 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 womanhood, my motherhood, the dead 
 ghost of my maidenhood, the sex within 
 me, are in travail. 
 
 I know that you have rent the frail 
 veil that makes woman a mystery to the 
 boy. There is knowledge in your eyes. 
 You cannot meet mine. 
 
 Women weep at the nuptials of their 
 daughters and are not ashamed of their 
 tears. 
 
 But the mothers of sons must weep 
 in secret while a gay woman laughs.
 
 On a Photograph 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 VEAREST 
 
 You left a photograph behind 
 you. It must have been in a pocket 
 and dropped out, for I found it on the 
 floor. I return it in case you want it. 
 I judge the original to be an actress, 
 since she has autographed all of it 
 except the face. Isn't it rather cheap 
 to let a woman, quite a new friend, I 
 gather, label it, "To my dear Boy"? 
 7 called you that ! 
 
 Still, perhaps she's a very amusing 
 person. 
 
 Are you coming down next week, dear? 
 Much love. 
 
 Your devoted 
 
 MOTHER. 
 173
 
 On an Engagement 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 VEAREST 
 
 You cannot think how delighted 
 I am to get your letter. Although you 
 are rather young to think of marriage, 
 still if you're in love, and if she's a dear 
 sweet girl, which I do not doubt, it 
 is only natural that you should want 
 to pledge yourself to her. For myself, 
 I am glad. I shall have a daughter 
 as well as a son, and my arms are wide 
 open to receive her. I was half afraid 
 (Heaven knows why, for I might have 
 known you had better taste) that you 
 had become infatuated with an actress. 
 So you can imagine how relieved I feel. 
 Bring her down next week, if her people 
 will let her come. In the meantime 
 174
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 175 
 
 tell me all and everything. Her name? 
 Her age? Eighteen or nineteen, I sup- 
 pose. I was eighteen when I first loved 
 your father, so I know how really and 
 truly a girl of that age can love. It's 
 the sweetest, best, and freshest age to 
 love the bud and flower of life. Is she 
 tall dark or fair? Who are her people? 
 (A typical mother's question! As if 
 you care a fig about her people!) Do 
 you think she will like me? Tell her 
 I want to loveherl 
 
 All my love, dear darling. 
 
 Your excited, delighted 
 
 MOTHER.
 
 On a Disappointment 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 IV /IY very dear son: 
 * * * I am so bewildered, dazed, and 
 shocked that I have been sitting and 
 staring at this blank sheet of paper 
 for hours. Gradually, out of the chaos, 
 my thoughts began to sort themselves, 
 and have brought me to a conclusion 
 that makes my son a stranger to me. 
 Even now I keep on deluding myself 
 that what you tell me cannot be true. 
 
 When you came down last week, there 
 was a barrier between us of shame on 
 your part, grief for your shame on mine. 
 It explained why you had avoided me 
 of late. When I returned the photo- 
 graph I knew the type of woman it 
 
 represented and that she had detained 
 176
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 177 
 
 you. Then, when you wrote saying 
 you were engaged, I felt I must have 
 been mistaken. Otherwise you could 
 not, as I believed, have offered yourself 
 to a sweet girl. And now I have your 
 letter in which you tell me she is not 
 exactly a young girl but the woman 
 whose photograph I have already seen. 
 
 I did not want to write or do any- 
 thing I might afterwards regret. I did 
 not want to lose you just when it is 
 vital for your welfare that I should keep 
 
 you. I sent for Captain . I gave 
 
 him your letter to read. I said not one 
 word of my private feelings, only this: 
 
 " You are a man of the world. Advise 
 me. Do you know anything of this 
 woman? Ought my son to marry her? " 
 
 When he gave me back your letter 
 he briefly answered that he would go up 
 to town at once and see you. He would 
 tell me nothing save that he knew of her, 
 that all men knew of her. He called
 
 178 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 you a fool. He called you disloyal 
 to me. 
 
 I had only one more question to ask, 
 because of an unspeakable fear. 
 
 "Suppose there is a reason why he 
 should feel it to be his duty to marry 
 her?" 
 
 "There could be no reason why any 
 man should owe such a woman a duty 
 of any sort," he answered. "Don't 
 you understand what she is?" 
 
 I bowed my head in shame. 
 
 He promised to return and tell me 
 what you had said. He has just done so. 
 It appears that you know everything 
 about her that there is to know, and that 
 you will not listen to anyone's advice. 
 
 What can I say to you, I, your 
 mother, who have built up the house of 
 your life with prayer and fasting? Aye, 
 even with fasting! Is this woman to 
 defile it? You too, who are the seed of 
 the most hallowed wedded love.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 179 
 
 Now you need your father. The man 
 you have called a friend, who has been 
 instrumental in starting you on your 
 career, you regard as an old meddler. 
 You told him so. You deem me pre- 
 judiced. And yet I, your mother, who 
 have been shielded from all that is un- 
 lovely in life, know that you are in the 
 grip of the mental malady which is 
 responsible for all the sin, shame, sor- 
 row, even the origin of crime, with which 
 the world is groaning passion apart 
 from love. 
 
 One day, as surely as you will re- 
 member these words of mine with 
 gratitude or regret, you will meet and 
 love a good woman. This is absolutely 
 inevitable. Every man loves one good 
 woman in his life. Then, if you wor- 
 ship at this unholy shrine, what will you 
 be able to offer at the altar of real love 
 when it comes to you? Your hands will 
 be empty. Either a separation that is
 
 i8o THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 worse than the bitterness of death, since 
 honour and not death dictates it; or, 
 out of the wealth of her love, the sur- 
 render to a call that will fill her with 
 regret, possibly with shame. 
 
 It is grievous to think that these 
 women, these others, steal the youth and 
 the best of a man, and that the sweet 
 woman who keeps her life as a tended 
 garden should have to water it with her 
 tears because of follies committed by 
 another. It is always the sinless woman 
 who pays, over and over again. 
 
 If this woman cared for you at all in 
 any worthy sense she would know it to 
 be her duty to send you away from her. 
 
 My darling child, I could not find 
 it in my heart to oppose your wishes 
 were it not for a mother's awful pre- 
 science which satisfies her that the step 
 you contemplate taking will be dis- 
 astrous. You are dazed by the flash- 
 light of a sordid romance; but why, oh
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 181 
 
 why, do you seek to sanctify a gross 
 thing by the sacrament of marriage, an 
 institution that must have its roots in 
 a reverence for love if it is to last? 
 
 For love of me, dearest, put an end to 
 this before it is too late. I pray to you, 
 darling, to be guided by my love that 
 has never failed you. Can you refuse 
 me when I beseech you to do this one 
 thing for me? Is not your filial love 
 great enough to make the sacrifice? 
 
 Darling, could I pray on my knees 
 night and morning for your happiness if 
 I had a thought of self in my heart? 
 I have never thought of myself since I 
 had you. How can I strengthen the 
 appeal in written words so that you may 
 know it as the supplication of my soul? 
 If you knew that they were actually 
 written in my life's blood would you 
 turn to me now? 
 
 Your 
 
 MOTHER.
 
 On an Interview 
 
 (Unposted) 
 
 A S you would not listen to my 
 ** importunities, I gave heed to 
 yours. I went as you desired to see her, 
 yesterday, having promised that if I 
 could be sure she loved you I would 
 withdraw my opposition. I felt safe, 
 because, whatever her artifices, she 
 could not hide her real feelings from 
 me. I was even gerferous enough not 
 to take her unawares, as I might have 
 done. I made an appointment. She 
 should have time to collect her weapons, 
 to appear to the best advantage, if she 
 wished to do so. 
 
 And because, sick woman as I am, 
 I am still very woman, I dressed with 
 care. I wore black, my simplest frock, 
 182
 
 THE LITTLE MOTHER 183 
 
 and my black hat with its soft frill 
 of lace and subduing band of velvet. 
 I am glad I did not look old and frump- 
 ish. I was glad my hair was still bright, 
 and that honourable men had found me 
 good to look upon. She should not 
 regard me as a specimen of the cen- 
 sorious mother that her type scorns. 
 
 I called at her house. I saw her a 
 pretty woman, outwardly artificial, with 
 the sly gift of charm. She was so 
 pretty that my first feeling was one of 
 genuine sorrow that she had misused her 
 life. She need not have stooped to that. 
 Men would have stooped to her. She 
 had been burning a joss-stick in the 
 room. That and the fatigue of the 
 journey made me feel faint. 
 
 We shook hands. She sat figuratively 
 speaking with couched lance. I could 
 not mistake her attitude. 
 
 A woman's way with another woman 
 is either to skim the surface or go
 
 1 84 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 straight to the heart of things. I went 
 straight to the heart of things. I had 
 neither the time nor the inclination to 
 avoid the direct issue. 
 
 "Do you love my son?" I asked. 
 
 On her reply hung worlds. 
 
 If she loved you I must have known 
 it then. If her emotions had been too 
 strong for words I should have seen 
 it in the glowing devotion in her eyes, 
 and the rose-patch of a sudden blush. 
 She could not have hidden them. She 
 looked at me, quite calmly and steadily. 
 No woman, be she nineteen or forty- 
 nine, who cared for a man, could have 
 looked at that man's mother as she 
 looked at me. If she had cared, how- 
 ever undemonstrative either or both of 
 us might have been, however divergent 
 in other ways, our hearts must have 
 been responsive at that moment. 
 
 She answered with a light polite 
 laugh :
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 185 
 
 "Love's rather a strong word, don't 
 you think?" 
 
 "Tell me quite frankly why you wish 
 to marry him. " 
 
 "I like him. He's such a dear boy. 
 And it's time I settled down." 
 
 "It is early for him to settle down," 
 I said. "He is barely twenty-four." 
 
 "I'm thirty," was her candid re- 
 joinder. "Boys fall hopelessly in love 
 
 with women of my age. is awfully 
 
 devoted. That sort of thing has its 
 charm. It partly makes up for his 
 want of money. Still, he may 'get 
 there. ' I'm ambitious. " 
 
 "I, too, have been ambitious for my 
 son." 
 
 I was about to try and give her some 
 idea of how I loved you, of all that you 
 meant to me, when I saw a preoccupied 
 look in her face. She was not listening. 
 My feelings did not interest her. So 
 I got up to go.
 
 1 86 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 "Well. Have we your blessing?" 
 she asked with a careless smile. 
 
 I told her that I did not desire the 
 marriage. She was a little rude, and 
 her last words were in the nature of a 
 taunt. 
 
 "I don't think you'll succeed in put- 
 ting him off me. " 
 
 It was a little crude; the phrase had 
 more than a touch of vulgarity in it. 
 But I did not retort. 
 
 "I'm only sorry that I should have 
 lived to see this," I rejoined. "It's so 
 sordid." 
 
 "Meaning me?" 
 
 "Your life and the hold you are 
 exercising over my son." 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked. 
 
 "Do you think a mother does not 
 know?" 
 
 At that she laughed lightly, as if to 
 show that any conclusion of mine did 
 not matter.
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 187 
 
 " If you think I bolstered him up with 
 the usual silly reason why he ought to 
 marry me, you're mistaken. I'm not 
 very strong on the maternal instincts." 
 
 I felt scorched. I endured the same 
 nauseating sensation as one gets when 
 reading an ugly situation in a real- 
 istic novel. Because a thing is con- 
 scientiously true to life its brutality 
 is no excuse for giving expression to 
 it. 
 
 I left her. 
 
 It had been my intention to come 
 straight on to you. But I was too worn 
 and spent. It was one of my bad days. 
 On the way back my physical pain be- 
 came so great that it actually dulled my 
 mental anguish. When I got home I 
 was just able to crawl to my bed while 
 
 Cookie went for Dr. . He comes 
 
 more often now to give me the morphia 
 I dare not inject at discretion. If I 
 did I should abuse it instead of enduring
 
 1 88 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 the pain setting my lips and burying 
 my face in the smothering pillow. 
 
 The narcotic flowed through my veins, 
 soothed my throbbing agony, whispered 
 to my dulled consciousness : 
 
 "What does it matter? Nothing 
 matters. Sleep is delicious. Forget!"
 
 On the Last Gift 
 
 (Posted) 
 
 /\ l\ Y beloved Son : 
 
 You know that part of the Bible 
 where Jesus tells His disciples He is 
 going to die? When I was a little girl 
 I used to wonder why he told them. 
 I thought it would have been so much 
 grander had He, to save the world, died 
 without announcing His earthly end; 
 that that would have shown greater 
 self -sacrifice. But in time I understood 
 that I was wrong. However desirous 
 Jesus may have been to make His great 
 gift to the world silently, He was de- 
 barred from doing so. The world needed 
 telling for its own salvation. Jesus 
 was the embodiment of self-sacrifice, 
 but in the matter of His death He saw 
 189
 
 190 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 the unwisdom of following the dictates 
 of His great heart. 
 
 So, if immeasurably less so, is it with 
 me. My heart prompts me to keep 
 from you what I have to tell. The 
 moment has come for you to know it, 
 perhaps for your own good. 
 
 I have prayed to you with tears. I 
 have appealed to you with my whole 
 heart. I have implored you, in your 
 dead father's name, to listen to my 
 wishes. And in vain. Now, as a last 
 resource, I am compelled to let you 
 know of the obligation you are under 
 to me, so that you cannot in honour 
 refuse the only serious request I have 
 ever made you, the sole debt I have 
 ever asked you to discharge. 
 
 Dear one, I have made my body a 
 stepping-stone for your advancement 
 in life. I went without necessities that 
 you might have success. True, I made 
 light of what I did because my heart was
 
 WHO SITS AT HOME 191 
 
 light. In winter, when, as you grew, 
 your clothes cost more, and mine wore 
 out, I did with less and defied the cold. 
 I was often hungry. I was so proud of 
 my economies. They had to be endured 
 if you were to have your education. I 
 thought of the man in the making. 
 
 Then I was ill and I did without the 
 doctor. I knew mine was not a tri- 
 fling complaint or I would have endeav- 
 oured to remedy it. When at last I 
 was driven to the specialist I had to 
 choose between spending money on my- 
 self or you. Had I decided selfishly 
 you would have had to leave college in 
 your first term. The specialist gave 
 me three years if I did not undergo the 
 operation he advised. That leaves me 
 about six months now. 
 
 I am dying, darling. 
 
 I would give my soul not to have had 
 to tell you this even now. You would 
 not have stayed up for your degree, your
 
 192 THE LITTLE MOTHER 
 
 honours, your blue, had I done so. 
 You would have been unselfish, and 
 come down. I spared you that, spare 
 me this. 
 
 My last request is that you give me 
 your pledge never to see this woman 
 again. Believe me I feel it a grievous 
 thing to have to urge the self-denial I 
 practiced out of love in order to coerce 
 you. 
 
 Oh, my most precious son, come to 
 me! Come and assure me that I have 
 you still; that you will in the fulness of 
 time choose a good woman, because first 
 and foremost, goodness is the chief thing 
 that matters. 
 
 And yet my heart will be sore if your 
 promise is only given because a sense 
 of honour demands the liquidation of 
 what you feel to be a debt. 
 
 Even as I have loved you, my darling 
 out of your love! Out of your love!
 
 None Dimhtis 
 
 ORD, now lettest thou thy servant 
 "^ depart in peace: according to thy 
 word. 
 
 For mine eyes have seen: thy sal- 
 vation, 
 
 Which thou hast prepared: before 
 the face of all people; 
 
 To be a light to lighten the Gentiles: 
 and to be the glory of thy people Israel. 
 
 Glory be to the Father, and to the 
 Son, and to the Holy Ghost ; 
 
 As it was in the beginning, is now, and 
 ever shall be: world without end. 
 
 AMEN. 
 
 14 193
 
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