it, too. The way he looks at me--or dodges looking! Mummy--I've got to
tell you--you'll have to know--and maybe you'll stop loving me. I'm--"
He threw out his arms with a gesture of despair. "I'm--afraid to go."
With that he was on his knees beside her, and his arms gripped her, and
his head was hidden in her lap. For a long minute there was only
silence, and the woman held the young head tight.

Hugh lifted his face and stared from blurred eyes. "A man might better
be dead than a coward--you're thinking that? That's it." A sob stopped
his voice, the young, dear voice. His face, drawn into lines of age,
hurt her unbearably. She caught him against her and hid the beloved,
impossible face.

"Hugh--I--judging you--I? Why, Hughie, I _love_ you--I only love you. I
don't stand off and think, when it's you and Brock. I'm inside your
hearts, feeling it with you. I don't know if it's good or bad. It's--my
own. Coward--Hughie! I don't think such things of my darling."

"'There's no--friend like a mother,'" stammered young Hugh, and tears
fell unashamed. His mother had not seen the boy cry since he was ten
years old. He went on. "Dad didn't say a word, because he wouldn't spoil
your birthday, but the way he dodged--my knee--" He laughed miserably
and swabbed away tears with the corner of his pajama coat. "I wish I had
a hanky," he complained. The woman dried the tear-stained cheeks hastily
with her own. "Dad's got it in for me," said Hugh. "I can tell. He'll
make me go--now. He--he suspects I went skating that day hoping I'd
fall--and--I know it wasn't so darned unlikely. Yes--I did--not the first
time--when I smashed it; that was entirely--luck." He laughed again, a
laugh that was a sob. "And now--oh, Mummy, have I _got_ to go into that
nightmare? I hate it so. I am--I _am_--afraid. If--if I should be there