“Then I'll tell you at my own risk, for you're the right sort to trust, promise or no promise. I only hope you will not tell without letting me know first; because then I might have to do something else by way of--what do they call it when you take poison, and then take something to keep it from hurting you?--Richard's gone to college!” Bab slid from Miss Brown's back, flung her arms, with the bridle on one of them, round the blacksmith's neck, and, heedless of Miss Brown's fright, jumped up, and kissed the old man for the good news. “Miss! miss! your clean face!” cried the blacksmith. “Oh Richard! Richard! you _will_ be happy now!” she said, her voice trembling with buried tears. “--But will he ever shoe Miss Brown again, grandfather?” “Many's the time, I trust!” answered Simon. “He'll be proud to do it. If not, he never was worth a smile from your sweet mouth.” “He'll be a great man some day!” she laughed, with a little quiver of the sweet mouth. “He's a good man now, and I don't care,” answered the smith. “As long as son of mine can look every man in the face, I don't care whether it be great or small he is.” “But, please, Mr. Armour,” said Bab timidly, “wouldn't it be better still if he could look God in the face?” “You're right there, my pretty dove!” replied the old man; “only a body can't say everything out in a breath!--But you're right, you _are_ right!” he went on. “I remember well the time when I thought I had nothing to be ashamed of; but the time came when I was ashamed of many things, and I'd done nothing worse in the meantime either! When a man first gets a peep inside himself, he sees things he didn't look to see--and they stagger him a bit! Some horses have their hoofs so shrunk and cockled they take the queerest shoes to set them straight; an' them shoes is the troubles o' this life, I take it.--Now mind, I ain't told you what college he's gone to--nor whether it be at Oxford or at Cambridge, or away in Scotland or Germany--and you don't know! And if you don't feel bound to mention the name of the place, I'd be obliged to you not to. But I will let him know that I've told you what sort of a place he's at, because he couldn't tell you himself, being he's bound to hold his tongue.” Barbara went home happy: his grandfather recognized the bond between them! As to Richard, she had no fear of his forgetting her. With more energy still, she went about her duties; and they seemed to grow as she did them. As the end of Mark's sickness approached, he became more and more dependent upon her, and only his mother could take her place with him. He loved his father dearly, but his father never staid more than a moment or two in the sick-chamber. Mark at length went away to find his twin; and his mother and Barbara wept, but not all in sorrow.