“No, I mean that we should assemble ourselves in case your parents arrive home. " "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own. So kind, so good to me always. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her.
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