Here it has been just the same.

Haven't I seen your face and your hands, your poor hands,"-- here the boy's voice broke with an indignant passion--"blue with the cold when you could not get furs to protect them?
Never, never shall I forget those days." The boy stopped abruptly, unable to go on.
Quickly the mother drew her son toward her.

"Larry, my son, my son, you must never think that a hard time.

Did ever a woman have such joy as I?
When I think of other mothers and of other children, and then think of you all here, I thank God every day and many times a day that he has given us each other.

And, Larry, my son, let me say this, and you will remember it afterwards.