Page:Frank Owen - Rare Earth, 1931.djvu/295

 had sat as though at his mother's knee pouring out his troubles and listening for the echo of her voice.

"Mother," he whispered, "I know that you are there, that you will always be with me. Little mother."

Then he crept up the stairs to his beloved attic. Hung Long Tom sat dozing in his favorite corner.

"I don't know how to explain it," said Scobee brokenly, "but this morning I imagined that my mother was sitting by my bedside. She bade me wake up and when I opened my eyes, I could see. After all these endless black months I could see again."

Hung Long Tom rose to his feet. For a moment he could not trust his voice. He placed his arm about Scobee's shoulder and led him over to the portrait of his mother which he had completed blind after having seen a vision of her on the battlefield.

At last Hung Long Tom spoke, softly, meditatively.

"Mother-love is always hard to explain," he