Guy Morgan came in from school with rapid step and impetuous manner. His
mother looked up from her work. There was a round, red spot on his
cheek, and an ominous glitter in his eyes. She knew the signs. His
naturally fierce temper had been stirred in some way to a heat that had
kindled his whole nature. He tossed down his cap, threw himself on an
ottoman at her feet, and then said, with still a little of the heat of
his temper in his tone, "Never say, after this, that I don't love you,
mother."
"I think I never did say so," she answered gently, as she passed her
hand over the tawny locks, and brushed them away from the flushed brow.
"But what special thing have you done to prove your love for me just
now?"
"Taken a blow without returning it." She bent over and kissed her boy.
He was fifteen years old, a tall fellow with strong muscles; but he had
not grown above liking his mother's kisses.