As she lay thinking and mourning, the suggestion began to creep into her

Mind that there was an undefinable something about this boy that was lacking

In Tom Canty, mad or sane. She could not describe it, she could not tell just

What it was, and yet her sharp mother-instinct seemed to detect it and

perceive it. What if the boy were really not her son, after all? Oh, absurd! She

Almost smiled at the idea, spite of her griefs and troubles. No matter, she

found that it was an idea that would not 'down', but persisted in haunting her.

It pursued her, it harassed her, it clung to her, and refused to be put away or

Ignored. At last she perceived that there was not going to be any peace for her

Until she should devise a test that should prove, dearly and without question,

Whether this lad was her son or not, and so banish these wearing and

Worrying doubts. Ah, yes, this was plainly the right way out of the difficulty;

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Therefore, she set her wits to work at once to contrive that test. But it was an

Easier thing to propose than to accomplish. She turned over in her mind one

Promising test after another, but was obliged to relinquish them all — none of

Them were absolutely sure, absolutely perfect; and an imperfect one could not

Satisfy her. Evidently she was racking her head in vain — it seemed manifest