” “It’s the perpetual trouble,” he said, “of parent and child. " "Run along, then. Have you been away from Morningside Park?” “I’m not interrupting you?” “You are. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. “Some day,” she answered. ’ ‘Poor sort of a mother,’ Martha said with bitterness.
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