With a tenderness which Mrs.Mel permitted rather than encouraged, Evan put his arm round her neck, and kissed her many times.

One of the symptoms of heavy sorrow, a longing for the signs of love, made Evan fondle his mother, and bend over her yearningly.

Mrs.Mel said once: 'Dear Van; good boy!' and quietly sat through his caresses.
'Sitting up for me, mother ?' he whispered.
'Yes, Van; we may as well have our talk out.' 'Ah!' he took a chair close by her side, 'tell me my father's last words.' 'He said he hoped you would never be a tailor.' Evan's forehead wrinkled up.

'There's not much fear of that, then!' His mother turned her face on him, and examined him with a rigorous placidity; all her features seeming to bear down on him.

Evan did not like the look.
'You object to trade, Van ?' 'Yes, decidedly, mother-hate it; but that's not what I want to talk to you about.