“You have been reading them and the prescribed books for four months past. And I have had sets of the old papers by me for a guide. Your mathematics are shaky--but I think you should do well enough.” It was now Humility’s turn, and the discussion plunged among shirts and collars. Never had evening been so happy; and whether they talked of mathematics or of collars, Taffy could not help observing how from time to time his father’s and mother’s eyes would meet and say, as plainly as words, “We have done rightly.” “Yes, we have done rightly.” And the wonder of it remained next morning, when he awoke to a changed world and took down his books with a new purpose. Already his box had been carried into old Mrs. Venning’s room, and his mother and grandmother were busy, the one packing and repacking, the other making a new and important suggestion every minute. He was to go up alone, and to lodge in Trinity College, where an old friend of Mr. Raymond’s, a resident fellow just then abroad and spending his Long Vacation in the Tyrol, had placed his own room at the boy’s service. To see Oxford--to be lodging in college! He had to hug his mother in the midst of her packing. “You will be going by the Great Western,” she said. “You won’t be seeing Honiton on your way.” When the great morning came, Mr. Raymond travelled with him in the van to Truro, to see him off. Humility went upstairs to her mother’s room, and the two women prayed together-- “They also serve who only stand and wait.” CHAPTER XIX. OXFORD. “Know you her secret none can utter? Hers of the Book, the tripled Crown?” “Eight o’clock, sir!” Taffy heard the voice speaking above a noise which his dreams confused with the rattle of yesterday’s journey. He was still in the train, rushing through the rich levels of Somersetshire. He saw the broad horizon, the cattle at pasture, the bridges and flagged pools flying past the window--and sat up rubbing his eyes. Blenkiron, the scout, stood between him and the morning sunshine emptying a can of water into the tub beside his bed. Blenkiron wore a white waistcoat and a tie of orange and blue, the colours of the College Servants’ Cricket Club. These were signs of the Long Vacation. For the rest his presence would have become an archdeacon; and he guided Taffy’s choice of a breakfast with an air which suggested the hand of iron beneath the glove of velvet. “And begging your pardon, sir, but will you be lunching in?” Taffy would consult Mr. Blenkiron’s convenience. “The fact is, sir, we’ve arranged to play Teddy ’All this afternoon at Cowley, and the drag starts at one-thirty sharp.” “Then I’ll get my lunch out of college,” said Taffy, wondering who Teddy Hall might be. “I thank you, sir. I had, indeed, took the liberty of telling the manciple that you was not a gentleman to give more trouble than you could ’elp. Fried sole, pot of tea, toast, pot of blackberry jam, commons of bread--” Mr. Blenkiron disappeared.