Teddy's Button by Amy Le Feuvre

The days slowly passed, and still no change for the better. The
doctor came and went with his grave, impenetrable face, and Teddy was
still unconscious. Then doubts began to rise in his mother's heart as to
whether his reason would ever come back, and she stopped the doctor
as he was leaving one morning to ask him the question,—
'If he lives, doctor, will he be an idiot?—my brave, bonny boy! Oh,
I would rather have death for him than that!' And the doctor could only
give her the meagre consolation, 'He may recover yet. I have seen worse
cases than this pull through, and be as bright as ever they were.'
And then, one afternoon, when the setting sun was flooding the
room with a golden glory, the little head turned on the pillow. 'Mother!'
The sound of that word, not uttered since she had seen him in the
doctor's house that first terrible day, was like the sweetest music in her
ear. Stooping over him she met the clear conscious gaze of the blue
eyes.
'So tired, mother! Put your hand under my cheek. Good-night.'
The eyelids closed, and the limbs relaxed in healthy sleep. The
mother sat down, and though her arm became stiff and weary, not a
muscle of it moved.
The doctor came in just before he woke.
'He has spoken; he knew me,' she said; and the doctor nodded and
smiled. And then a minute after the boy raised his head.
'Where am I, mother?' he asked feebly.
'In bed, darling. You've been ill.'
'Where's my button?'
'He'll do,' said the doctor contentedly; 'keep him quiet, and feed
him up.'
And the glad news went round the village that Teddy was getting
better.
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