Widow Simms heard the remark, and with a swelling heart turned toward the boy who sawed Rose Mather’s wood, for _she_ knew who it was, and it did not need the loud whisper of Mrs. Baker to tell her that it was _her_ boy, the youngest of the three, the one she loved the best, the baby, who kept the milk of human kindness from turning quite sour within her breast by his many acts of filial love, and his gentle, caressing ways. How could she give him up, her darling, her idol, the one so like his father, dead ere he was born? Who would comfort her as he had done? Who would give her the good-night kiss, timidly, stealthily, lest the older ones should see and laugh at his girlish weakness? Who would bring his weekly earnings, and empty them slily into her lap? Who would find her place in the prayer book on Sunday, and pound her clothes on Monday, long before it was light? Who would split the nice fine kindlings for the morning fire or bring the cool fresh water in the summer from the farther well, and who, when her head was aching sadly would make the cup of tea she liked so much? Homely offices, many of them, it is true, but they made up the sum of that mother’s happiness, and it is not strange that, for a moment, the iron will gave way, and the poor widow wept over her cruel bereavement, not noisily, as Mrs. Baker had done, but silently, bitterly, her body trembling nervously, and her whole attitude indicative of keen, unaffected anguish. Rose did not know the relationship existing between the widow and the boy who sawed her wood, but her better nature was touched always at the sight of distress, and for several minutes, she did not speak except to tell Mr. Wentworth how much _Brother Tom_ had paid for the crimson scarf, one end of which he was twirling around his wrist. To Annie it seemed an enormous sum, and a little over-awed with her close proximity to one who could sport so expensive an article of dress, she involuntarily tried to move away, and avoid, if possible, being noticed by the brilliant belle. She might have spared herself the trouble, for Rose was too much absorbed with the group of admirers gathering around her to heed the shrinking figure at her side, and, after a time, as Widow Simms recovered her composure, she resumed her gay badinage, bringing in Will with every other breath, and showing how completely her heart was bound up in her husband, notwithstanding the evident satisfaction with which she received the flattering compliments of the gentlemen who, since her arrival at Rockland, had made it a point to admire and flirt with the little Boston belle, laughing loudly at speeches which, from one less piquant and attractive, would have been pronounced decidedly silly and meaningless.