I knew that she deprived herself of almost
everything to give it to me. I have seen her eat dry bread patiently,
while for me and my father there was always some little dainty. The
remembrance of the happiness of my early life begins and ends with my
mother. My memories of her are all pleasant." She continued as though
recalling her thoughts with difficulty. "I can remember some one else. I
do not know who or what he was, except that he was, I think, a doctor.
He used to see me, and used to amuse me. Then there came a dark day. I
cannot tell what happened, but after that day I never saw my friend
again."
He was looking at her with wondering eyes.
"And you remember no more than that about him, Madaline?"
"No," she replied. "Then came a time," she went on, "when it seemed to
me that my mother spent all her days and nights in weeping. There fell a
terrible shadow over us, and we removed. I have no recollection of the
journey--not the faintest; but I can remember my sorrow at leaving the
bright green woods for a dull, gloomy city lodging. My mother was still
my hope and comfort. After we came to London she insisted that, no
matter what else went wrong I should have a good education; she toiled,
saved, suffered for me.
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