Page 134 - sons-and-lovers

a blessing it IS clean. But it had better be aired. And stock-
ings—he won’t want them—and a towel, I suppose; and
handkerchiefs. Now what else?’
‘A comb, a knife and fork and spoon,’ said Paul. His fa-
ther had been in the hospital before.
‘Goodness knows what sort of state his feet were in,’ con-
tinued Mrs. Morel, as she combed her long brown hair, that
was fine as silk, and was touched now with grey. ‘He’s very
particular to wash himself to the waist, but below he thinks
doesn’t matter. But there, I suppose they see plenty like it.’
Paul had laid the table. He cut his mother one or two
pieces of very thin bread and butter.
‘Here you are,’ he said, putting her cup of tea in her
place.
‘I can’t be bothered!’ she exclaimed crossly.
‘Well, you’ve got to, so there, now it’s put out ready,’ he
insisted.
So she sat down and sipped her tea, and ate a little, in si-
lence. She was thinking.
In a few minutes she was gone, to walk the two and a half
miles to Keston Station. All the things she was taking him
she had in her bulging string bag. Paul watched her go up
the road between the hedges—a little, quick-stepping fig-
ure, and his heart ached for her, that she was thrust forward
again into pain and trouble. And she, tripping so quickly
in her anxiety, felt at the back of her her son’s heart waiting
on her, felt him bearing what part of the burden he could,
even supporting her. And when she was at the hospital, she
thought: ‘It WILL upset that lad when I tell him how bad it

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