"How tired you look, Mammy," she said; "lean on me."
"It's my place to give Mother my arm," said Peter. "I'm the head man of the family when Father's away."
Mother took an arm of each.
"How awfully nice," said Phyllis, skipping joyfully, "to think of the dear Russian embracing his long-lost wife. The baby must have grown a lot since he saw it."
"Yes," said Mother.
"I wonder whether Father will think I've grown," Phyllis went on, skipping still more gaily.
"I have grown already, haven't I, Mother?"
"Yes," said Mother, "oh, yes," and Bobbie and Peter felt her hands tighten on their arms.
"Poor old Mammy, you are tired," said Peter.
Bobbie said, "Come on, Phil; I'll race you to the gate."
And she started the race, though she hated doing it. You know why Bobbie did that. Mother only thought that Bobby was tired of walking slowly. Even Mothers, who love you better than any one else ever will, don't always understand.
