Robin's little hand delicately touched Mrs. Muir.
"IS--she?" she faltered.
Helen Muir took her in her arms and held her quite close. She
kissed her.
"Yes, she is, my lamb," she said. "She's your mother."
She was clear as to what she must do for Donal's sake. It was the
only safe and sane course. But--at this age--the child WAS a lamb
and she could not help holding her close for a moment. Her little
body was deliciously soft and warm and the big silk curls all in
a heap were a fragrance against her breast.
CHAPTER X
Donal talked a great deal as he pranced home. Feather had excited
as well as allured him. Why hadn't she told Robin she was her
mother? Why did she never show her pictures in the Nursery and
hold her on her knee? She was little enough to be held on knees!
Did some mothers never tell their children and did the children
never find out? This was what he wanted to hear explained. He took
the gloved hand near him and held it close and a trifle authoritatively.
"I am glad I know you are my mother," he said, "I always knew."
He was not sure that the matter was explained very clearly. Not as
clearly as things usually were. But he was not really disturbed.
He had remembered a book he could show Robin tomorrow and he thought
of that. There was also a game in a little box which could be
easily carried under his arm.
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