If a reader say Richard was too young to think thus, it only proves that _he_ could not think so at Richard's age, and goes for little. I may be interpreting, and rendering more definite the thoughts and feelings that passed through him: it does not follow that I misrepresent. Many thoughts must be made more definite in expression, else they could not be expressed at all; many feelings are as hazy as real, and some of them must be left to music. He grew in graciousness and in favour with God and his mother. Often did she meditate whether the hour was not come for the telling of her secret, but now one thing, now another deterred her. One time she feared the excitement in the present state of his health; another, she judged it unfair to the husband who had behaved with such generosity, to yield him no part in the pleasure of the communication. Once, to comfort him when he seemed depressed, she ventured to say-- “Would you like better to go to Oxford or to Cambridge, Richard?” He looked up with a smile. “What makes you ask that, mammy?” he rejoined. “Perhaps it could be managed!” she answered--leaving him to suppose his father might send him. “Is it because you think I shall never be able to work again?--Look at that!” he returned, extending an arm on which the muscle had begun to put in an appearance. “It's not for your strength,” she answered. “For that, you could do well enough! But think of the dust! It's so irritating to the lungs! And then there's the stooping all day long!” “Never mind, mother; I'm quite able for it, dust and all--or at least shall soon be. We mustn't be anxious about others any more than about ourselves. Doesn't the God you believe in tell you so?” “Don't you believe in him then, Richard?” said his mother sadly. “I think I do--a little--in a sort of a way--believe in God--but I hope to believe in him ten thousand times more!” His mother gave a sigh. “What more would you have, mother dear?” said Richard. “A man cannot be a saint all at once!” “No, indeed, nor a woman either!” she answered. “I've been a believer all these years, and I'm no nearer a saint than ever.” “But you're trying to be one, ain't you, mammy?” She made him no reply, and presently reverted to their former topic--perhaps took refuge in it. “I think it might be managed--some day!” she said. “You could go on with your trade after, if you liked. Why shouldn't a college-man be a tradesman? Why shouldn't a tradesman know as much as a gentleman?” “Why, indeed, mother! If I thought it wouldn't be too much for father and you, there are not many things I should like better than going to Oxford. You are good to me like God himself!” “Richard!” said his mother, shocked. She thought she served God by going to church, not by being like him in every word and look of love she gave her boy.