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Updated: May 17, 2025
The Doctor laughed and as they all rose together he still held his mother's hand in his and instead of an answer he bent and kissed it with a most distinctly foreign-acquired grace. "That's honey-fuzzle again, Tom Mayberry, if not in words, in acts," she exclaimed with a delighted laugh. "But pass it along to Elinory if only to keep her from feeling lonesome.
"Yourself, mother," called the Doctor after her. "Honey-fuzzle," called Mother back from the gate. "Better keep it, son, you'll need it some day." "Was there ever, ever anybody just like her?" asked Miss Wingate, as she sank back on the step beside the Doctor. "I think not," he answered with a hint of tenderness in his voice; "but then, really, Mother is one of a type.
"But, seeing that he about half feeds hisself by looking at me and you at the table, I reckon I'll have to let him have two chickens a day to keep up his strength. Honey-fuzzle are a mighty satisfying diet, though light, for a growed man. Reckon we can persuade him to try a couple of slices of old ham onct in a while so as to give a few broilers time to get legs long enough to fry?"
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