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Updated: June 6, 2025
But when he saw that it was mother who was lifting him, he left off being cross in one moment. "Dear little muzzie," he said, and though he was too sleepy to open his eyes again, he puckered up his little red lips for a kiss. "Muzzie," was what the boys called mother sometimes for a pet name. It wasn't very pretty, but she didn't mind.
Her daughter got up suddenly and crossed over to her mother. "Every one but you, Muzzie? Can't you manage to pity me a little? I think I could stand being pitied, just now." It was indeed a day for being mothered.
That's the thing I can't understand your running after him when he's dropped you gone without a word or a line to you." "He may have written, Muzzie. Letters are lost, you know, sometimes." "Very seldom. Very seldom!" Mrs. Lorimer hotly proclaimed her faith in her government's efficiency. "I haven't lost three letters in forty years. No. He's jilted you, Honor.
She took her mother in her arms and kissed her and spoke to her as she had to her little brothers in the years gone by, when they were hurt or sorry. "There, there, Muzzie dear! You can't help it. You must just stop caring so. It isn't your fault." "People will think people will say " sobbed Mildred Lorimer. "No one will blame you, dear. Every one knows what a trial I've always been to you."
It was a matter of days only until she sought him out and told him, in her mother's presence, that she believed she liked him better than her first father. "Honor, dear! You you mustn't, really " Mildred Lorimer insisted with herself on being shocked. "Don't you, Muzzie? Don't you like him better?" the child wanted persistently to know. "He was very nice, of course; I did like him awfully.
Every one that came out of the box, there was something to say about it. "My best paint-box that mother gave me last Christmas," Tom would say, or "My dear little pony horse with the little riding man, that Muzzie made a jacket for," Racey cried out.
Some of those kids will be tagging after us, or Carter." "Not Carter. Stepper's reading to him. He won't let him come." "One peach of a scout, Stephen Lorimer is," said the boy, warmly. "Best scout in the world." "He's the best friend we've got in the world, Jimsy," she said gravely. "I know it. Your mother's pretty much peeved about it, Skipper." "Yes, she is, just now. Poor Muzzie!
I don't mind telling you now that I should have gone with her myself if these people hadn't turned up." "Stepper, dear!" "And I'll go now, T. S., if you like." "No, Stepper. I'd rather go alone, really as long as I'm going to be so well looked after, and Muzzie needn't worry." "'Needn't worry!" said Mildred Lorimer, lifting her hands and letting them fall into her lap.
Her gay young stepfather! His spirit had put a period at nineteen, but his tired body was settling back into the slack lines of the late fifties. Her mother had changed but little, thanks to the unruffled serenity of her spirit and the skillful hands which cared for her. "Muzzie," Honor had said, meeting her alone in the morning, "you are a marvel! Why, you haven't a single gray hair!"
"You bet!" said Hughie, kissing her, and glad of the chance to get away. "Well, you will find something pretty nice in the pantry we saved for you. Guess what." "Don't know." "I know," shouted Robbie. "Pie! It's muzzie's pie. Muzzie tept it for 'oo." "Now, Robbie, you were not to tell," said his mother, shaking her finger at him.
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