Men, Women, and Ghosts Part 38

So then I seemed to know, as well as ever I knew afterwards, who it was.

And I thought of the dog. And the green rocking-chair. And the book that Whitmarsh wadded his old gun with. And the front-door, with the boy a walking in.

So we three went up the wharf,--Molly and the baby and me,--and sat down beside her on the yellow boards. I can't remember rightly what I said, but I remember her sitting silent in the sunshine till I had told her all there was to tell.

"_Don't_ cry!" says Molly, when I got through,--which it was the more surprising of Molly, considering as she was doing the crying all to herself. The old lady never cried, you see. She sat with her eyes wide open under her gray bunnet, and her lips a moving. After a while I made it out what it was she said: "The only son--of his mother--and she--"

By and by she gets up, and goes her ways, and Molly and I walk home together, with our little boy between us.

The End.