"You sha’n’t touch my mother!" But Mother’s arms stole swiftly around you, pinning your own to your side. "Father was only fooling, dear," she said, kneeling behind you and folding you to her breast. "See, he’s laughing at us." "Why, little chap," he said, "Father was only playing." Mother wiped away your tears, smiling at them, but proudly. You looked doubtfully at Father, who held out his arms to you; then slowly you went to him, urged by Mother’s hand. "You must always take care of Mother like that," he said, "and never let any one hurt her, or bother her, when Father’s away." "Mother’s little knight," she said, kissing your brow. And ever afterwards she was safe when you were near. "Oh, that Mrs. Waddles. I wish she wouldn’t bother me." Under her breath Mother said it, but you heard, and you hated Mrs. Waddles with all your soul, and her day of reckoning came. Mother was in the garden and did not hear. You answered the knock yourself. "Little darling, how—" "You can’t see my mother to-day," you said, stiffly. "That’s very strange," said Mrs. Waddles, with a forward step. "No," you said, a little louder, throwing yourself into the breach and holding the door-knob with all your might. "No! You mustn’t come in!" "You impertinent little child!" cried Mrs. Waddles, threateningly, but you faced her down, raising your voice again: "You can’t see my mother any more," you repeated, firmly. "And why not, I’d like to know?" demanded the old lady, swelling visibly. "Why not, I’d like to know?" "’Cause I’m to take care of my mother when my father’s away, and he said not to let anybody bother her that she don’t want to see." It was a long explanation and took all your breath. "Oh, is _that_ it?" cackled Mrs. Waddles, with withering scorn. "And how do you _know_ that your mother doesn’t want to see me—_hey_?" "’Cause—she—said—so!" You separated your words like the ABC book, that Mrs. Waddles might understand. It was a master-stroke. Gasping, her face on fire, gathering her skirts together with hands that trembled in their black silk mitts, Mrs. Waddles turned and swept away. "I never!" she managed to utter as she slammed the gate. You shut the door softly, the battle won, and went back to the garden. "Well, _that’s_ over," you said, with a sigh, as Mother herself would have said it. "What’s over, dear?" "Mrs. Waddles," you replied. So you took care of Mother so well that she loved you more and more as the days of your knighthood passed; and she took care of you so well that your cheeks grew rosier and your eyes brighter and your legs stronger, and you loved her more and more with the days of her motherhood.