114 BRUNO 



CHAPTER XVIII 



AGAIN the mother is in the city home. 

 No crib stands by the fireplace ; no tiny 

 garments are spread out to air. All is orderly 

 as in the years that now seem so far away. 



She sits with book or needle. 



The book falls to her knee, the work slips 

 to the floor; tears steal down her cheeks. 



Bruno presses near, his head against her 

 arm. With his uplifted, pleading eyes, he 

 seems to say, 



"Don't cry, Judith, please don't cry." 



Oh, matchless comforter! 



After a time we notice that Bruno is growing 

 old and feeble. 



Do we grieve at this ? Far from it. We feel 

 that life is over for us ; our only thought is to 

 escape its grasp and join our Little Blossom. 



We could never leave Bruno alone ; he would 

 grieve himself to death, and meanwhile, per- 

 haps, be abused as a stupid brute for refusing 

 to be comforted. 



