' But
even while he was saying it, he could not forget the tired look on his
mother's face, or the hurt look in her eyes when he had refused to wash
the dishes for her.
"When the boys reached the house, it seemed strangely quiet. They found
the dishes cleared away, and the kitchen neatly swept. Alfred's mother
was lying on the couch, and she seemed to be resting very comfortably.
"'See, Mother,' said Alfred, 'isn't this a nice string of trout?'
"But Mother did not answer. Alfred spoke to her again. Still no answer.
He touched her hand then, and found it icy-cold.
"Then the awful truth dawned upon him--his mother was dead! She had died
while he was fishing; but she had done the work that she had asked her
boy to do.
"All his life, poor Alfred felt the sting of the bee that had buzzed
about him on that summer morning. What hurt him most deeply was that he
would never again have a chance to help his frail little mother who had
done so much for him."
"I'm so glad," said Joyce, "that I still have my mother, and that I can
do things for her when she is tired."
"It's a sad story, Grandma," said little Don, "but I'm glad you told it
to us.
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