Lena had given him one of Tiny
Soderball's bottles of perfume for his mother, and he thought he would get
some handkerchiefs to go with it. They were cheap, and he hadn't much
money left. We found a tableful of handkerchiefs spread out for view at
Duckford's. Chris wanted those with initial letters in the corner, because
he had never seen any before. He studied them seriously, while Lena looked
over his shoulder, telling him she thought the red letters would hold their
colour best. He seemed so perplexed that I thought perhaps he hadn't
enough money, after all. Presently he said gravely:
`Sister, you know mother's name is Berthe. I don't know if I ought to get
B for Berthe, or M for Mother.'
Lena patted his bristly head. `I'd get the B, Chrissy. It will please her
for you to think about her name. Nobody ever calls her by it now.'
That satisfied him. His face cleared at once, and he took three reds and
three blues. When the neighbour came in to say that it was time to start,
Lena wound Chris's comforter about his neck and turned up his jacket
collar--he had no overcoat--and we watched him climb into the wagon and
start on his long, cold drive. As we walked together up the windy street,
Lena wiped her eyes with the back of her woollen glove.
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