The Sheriff's Son
firmly than a grip of steel. With unflagging patience he fended bogies from the youngster.
But the day was at hand when he could do this no longer. That was why he was telling Royal about the mother he had never known. From his neck he drew a light gold chain, at the end of which was a small square folding case. In it was a daguerreotype of a golden-haired, smiling girl who looked out at her son with an effect of shy eagerness.
"Give Roy pretty lady," demanded the boy.
Beaudry shook his head slowly. "I reckon that's 'most the only thing you can ask your dad for that he won't give you." He continued unsteadily, looking at the picture in the palm of his hand. "Lady-Bird I called her, son. She used to fill the house with music right out of her heart. … Fine as silk and true as gold. Don't you ever forget that your mother was a thoroughbred." His voice broke. "But I had n't ought to have let her stay out here. She belonged where folks are good and kind, where they love books and music. Yet she would n't leave me because … because … Maybe you 'll know why she would n't some day, little son."
He drew a long, ragged breath and slipped the case back under his shirt.
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