Her dark eyes would pass slowly over her assembled children and would linger longest on Llewellyn, her first-born, and in them would be an appraisement, a doubt, something that was almost fear.
That look would make the boy himself restless. He would ask apprehensively: “What is it, Mother? What have I done?”
Then she would smile, a warm, caressing smile, and say:
“Nothing, bach. It’s my own good son you are.”
And Angus Knox would turn his head sharply and look, first at his wife, and then at the boy.
It had been a happy childhood, a normal boy’s childhood. Not luxurious, indeed spartan in many ways. Strict parents, a disciplined way of life. Plenty of home chores, responsibility for the four younger children, participation in the community activities. A godly but narrow way of life. And he fitted in, accepted it.
But he had wanted education, and here his father had encouraged him. He had the Scot’s reverence for learning, and was ambitious for this eldest son of his to become something more than a mere tiller of the soil.
“I’ll do what I can to help you, Llewellyn, but that will not be much. You’ll have to manage mostly for yourself.”
And he had done so. Encouraged by his teacher, he had gone ahead and put himself through college. He had worked in vacations, waiting in hotels and camps, he had done evening work washing dishes.
With his father he had discussed his future. Either a teacher or a doctor, he decided. He had had no particular sense of vocation, but both careers seemed to him congenial. He finally chose medicine.
Through all these years, was there no hint of dedication, of special mission? He thought back, trying to remember.
There had been something… yes, looking back from to-day’s viewpoint, there had been something. Something not understood by himself at the time. A kind of fear-that was the nearest he could get to it. Behind the normal fac,ade of daily life, a fear, a dread of something that he himself did not understand. He was more conscious of this fear when he was alone, and he had, therefore, thrown himself eagerly into community life.
It was about that time he became conscious of Carol.
He had known Carol all his life. They had gone to school together. She was two years younger than he was, a gawky, sweet-tempered child, with a brace on her teeth and a shy manner. Their parents were friends, and Carol spent a lot of time in the Knox household.
In the year of taking his finals, Llewellyn came home and saw Carol with new eyes. The brace was gone, and so was the gawkiness. Instead there was a pretty coquettish young girl, whom all the boys were anxious to date up.
Girls had so far not impinged much on Llewellyn’s life. He had worked too hard, and was, moreover, emotionally undeveloped. But now the manhood in him suddenly came to life. He started taking trouble with his appearance, spent money he could ill afford on new ties, and bought boxes of candy to present to Carol. His mother smiled and sighed, as mothers do, at the signs that her son had entered on maturity! The time had come when she must lose him to another woman. Too early to think of marriage as yet, but if it had to come, Carol would be a satisfactory choice. Good stock, carefully brought up, a sweet-tempered girl, and healthy-better than some strange girl from the city whom she did not know. ‘But not good enough for my son,’ said her mother’s heart, and then she smiled at herself, guessing that that was what all mothers had felt since time immemorial! She spoke hesitantly to Angus of the matter.
“Early days yet,” said Angus. “The lad has his way to make. But he might do worse. She’s a good lass, though maybe not overloaded with brains.”
Carol was both pretty and popular, and enjoyed her popularity. She had plenty of dates, but she made it fairly clear that Llewellyn was the favourite. She talked to him sometimes in a serious way about his future. Though she did not show it, she was slightly disconcerted by his vagueness and what seemed to her his lack of ambition.