Page:Frank Owen - Rare Earth, 1931.djvu/35



OMA sighed deeply as she sat there by the fire. All her efforts seemed futile. She could not comfort her husband. Nor could she do much for Scobee whom she loved better than a son. Scobee from infancy had always thought of the house as his mother. Into the house his mother had woven her dreams. And the dreams Scobee knew and understood. He who had never known a living mother, had never been motherless. The house had showered a world of affection upon him that was priceless. When his father had married again he rebelled against a stepmother. Later as he grew to understand the fine type of woman that Roma was he had accepted her as a friend.