Page 158 - sons-and-lovers

of yellow across. His mother packed his dinner in a small,
shut-up basket, and he set off at a quarter to seven to catch
the 7.15 train. Mrs. Morel came to the entry-end to see him
off.
It was a perfect morning. From the ash tree the slender
green fruits that the children call ‘pigeons’ were twinkling
gaily down on a little breeze, into the front gardens of the
houses. The valley was full of a lustrous dark haze, through
which the ripe corn shimmered, and in which the steam
from Minton pit melted swiftly. Puffs of wind came. Paul
looked over the high woods of Aldersley, where the country
gleamed, and home had never pulled at him so powerfully.
‘Good-morning, mother,’ he said, smiling, but feeling
very unhappy.
‘Good-morning,’ she replied cheerfully and tenderly.
She stood in her white apron on the open road, watch-
ing him as he crossed the field. He had a small, compact
body that looked full of life. She felt, as she saw him trudg-
ing over the field, that where he determined to go he would
get. She thought of William. He would have leaped the fence
instead of going round the stile. He was away in London,
doing well. Paul would be working in Nottingham. Now she
had two sons in the world. She could think of two places,
great centres of industry, and feel that she had put a man
into each of them, that these men would work out what SHE
wanted; they were derived from her, they were of her, and
their works also would be hers. All the morning long she
thought of Paul.
At eight o’clock he climbed the dismal stairs of Jordan’s

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