There was a pause while Keith pondered the matter—­not seriously concerned on the whole, as long as the tidbit was not taken away from him.

“Don’t you love your father,” his mother asked suddenly.

“Ye-es,” Keith answered mechanically.

Then he began to ponder again.  His feelings toward his father were far too complicated for utterance.  They seemed to have nothing whatsoever to do with love, if that was what he felt for his mother.  There was undoubtedly a great deal of fear in his attitude toward the father, and also resentment that at times would flare into something bordering on hatred.  But this attitude was combined with a lot of respect, not to say admiration.  At times it would also be tinged with a longing that he could not explain or express.  And if ever the father gave him the slightest evidence of friendliness, he would be thrown into a rapture of happiness that nothing done by his mother could equal.

He adored his mother, and clung to her, and relied on her and wheedled her, but it was an open question whether, at heart, he felt any particular respect for her—­although he was quite proud of certain things about her.  And as for Granny, whom, in a way, he loved more than anybody else, because she petted him and indulged his slightest whims, there could simply be no talk about respecting her.  Even Keith realized that she was not in the respected class.

His father was, on the other hand.  There could be no doubt about that.  If he had only been willing to unbend a little now and then....

IX

The kitchen had other attractions than Granny, though she ranked foremost.

As Keith came out from the living-room, he had on his right the huge, old-fashioned fire-place—­a regular fortress of brick, with a modern cook stove of iron set into one corner of it.  It was entirely covered by a smoke-hood of painted metal sheeting, with a flange on its outside edge along which were placed a number of lids.

On his left was a set of shelves filled from top to bottom with pots and pans and kettles of every possible size and shape, including a cauldron so huge and heavy that it took two people to get it out with ease from its place on the bottom shelf.  An overwhelming majority of these utensils were of copper and so highly polished that they shone like suns setting through a fog bank.  Some of them made good toys, but “things for use and not for play” was an old maxim often quoted by both parents and grudgingly repeated by Granny herself.

A big sofa, in which the grandmother slept at night stood along the centre of the wall on the left.  The corner beyond held a wall-fast cupboard so large that it looked like a closet built into the room.  It serves both as pantry and buffet, and was full of things tempting to a young palate.