He walked boldly up to the porch and just inside the door sat his lovely mother. She had been one of the most beautiful girls in all South Carolina in her day, his father had often said. She was beautiful still. She had known what happiness was. She was the mother of ten strong children--five boys and five girls--and her heart was young with their joys and hopes. A smile was playing about her fine mouth. She was dreaming perhaps of his coming. The Boy cleared his throat with a deep manly note and spoke in studied careless tones: "Seen any stray horses around here, ma'am?" The mother's eyes flashed as she sprang through the doorway and snatched him to her heart with a cry of joy: "No--but I see a stray Boy! Oh, my darling, my baby, my heart!" And then words failed. She loosed her hold and held him at arm's length, tried to say something, but only clasped him again and cried for joy. "Please, Ma, let me have him!" Polly pleaded. And then he clasped his sister in a long, voiceless hug--loosed her and caught her again: "I missed you, Polly, dear!" he sighed. When all the others had been greeted, he turned to his mother: "Where's Pa?" "Down in the field with the colts." "I'll go find him!" With a bound he was off. He wondered what his silent, undemonstrative father would do. He had always felt that he was a man of deep emotion for all his self-control. He saw him in the field, walked along the edge of the woods, and suddenly came before him without warning. The father's lips trembled. He stooped without a word, clasped the Boy in his arms and kissed him again and again. The youngster couldn't help wondering why a strong man should kiss so big a boy. The mother--yes--but his father, a man--no. It was sweet, this home-coming to those who loved deepest. Somehow the monastery, its bells, its organ, its jeweled windows, and its kindly black-robed priests seemed far away and unreal now--only a dream that had passed. VI REBELLION The mother's breakdown was not allowed to stop the Boy's education. Both father and older brother were determined on this. They would use the schools at home now. He was sent to the County Academy in the fall. The Boy didn't like it. After the easy life with the kindly old monks at St. Thomas, this academy was not only cheap and coarse and uninteresting, but the teacher had no sense. He gave lessons so long and hard it was impossible to memorize them. The Boy complained to the teacher. A lesson of the same length was promptly given again. The rebel showed the teacher he was wrong by failing to know it. "I'll thrash you, sir!" was the stern answer. The Boy would not take that from such a fool. He rose in his wrath, went home and poured out the indignant story of his wrongs. The father was a man of few words, but the long silence which followed gave a feeling of vague uneasiness. He was never dictatorial to his children, but meant what he said. His voice was quiet and persuasive when he finally spoke.