I give this little scrap of gossip to show the effect which Tom produced in those days on some of the most stylish of his contemporaries. But although, not altogether, it must be confessed, to his mother's approbation, Tom had kept his remarkable appearance, he had changed in many ways from the beautiful boy who had woven golden visions in the garden by the river. He had been educated, and educated well. Acting on the advice of her friends, and chiefly of old Mr. Cherry, legal adviser of the Bracebridges for three generations, Mrs. Gregory had sent him first to a good preparatory school, then to Eton, and lastly to the University of Oxford, where he had just finished his term with credit. It was the general opinion that this elaborate and costly training, which was supposed to have eaten largely into Mrs. Gregory's slender resources, had been thrown away upon Tom, who declined to belong either to the church, the bar, or the army--the only professions which were in those days considered admissible for a gentleman. But Mrs. Gregory was satisfied. 'It has made an Englishman of him,' she said. This was a little puzzling to the friend to whom the remark had been made. 'Why Englishman?' she said; 'he was English before.' 'I ought to have said "gentleman,"' she answered; 'but, to my mind, the one includes the other.' She was certainly no fool, this fair, placid-faced widow. Unfortunately, to be an Englishman, or even an English gentleman, is not remunerative as a profession, and it having been constantly impressed upon Tom that, if he were ever to live in that atmosphere of refinement which is supposed to belong to a gentleman's condition, he must make money, it became necessary for him to cast about for some means of doing so. He pondered for several weeks, visiting London two or three times in the interval. All this time he said nothing to his mother, and she, knowing his temperament, would not urge him to speak. Then one evening he asked formally if he might have a little conversation with her, and she knew, by the light in his face, that he had come to a decision. 'Well,' she said, smiling, 'what is it to be? Will you take Mr. Cherry's advice and be a lawyer? He will help you, I know, for the sake of "Auld Lang Syne."' 'So he was kind enough to say,' answered Tom. 'But I thanked him and said "No." I should make a poor lawyer. I want something practical to do. If I were a rich man I should enter the diplomatic service. As I am poor, I wish to make myself an architect.' 'An architect!' cried his mother, wondering within herself what possible connection there could be between the two professions. 'A builder of houses, do you mean?' 'Houses, churches, cathedrals, playhouses, anything I may be put to,' said Tom, smiling at his mother's look of dismay. 'You see there is something permanently useful about building--always supposing that you build well--and it leaves the other half of the mind free.'