ok forward to. Can't we do anything before that?"

Ned was silent.

"I do not want you to tell me, Ned, anything that happens at home--God
forbid that I should pry into matters so sacred as relations between a
boy and a parent!--but I can see, my boy, that something is wrong. You
are not yourself. At first when you came back I thought all was well
with you; you were, as was natural, sad and depressed, but I should
not wish it otherwise. But of late a change has come ever you; you are
nervous and excited; you have gone down in your class, not, I can see,
because you have neglected your work, but because you cannot bring your
mind to bear upon it. Now all this must have a cause. Perhaps a little
advice on my part might help you. We shall break up in a week, Ned, and
I shall be going away for a time. I should like to think before I went
that things were going on better with you."

"I don't want to say anything against my mother," Ned said in a low
voice. "She means kindly, sir; but, oh! it is so hard to bear. She is
always talking about father, not as you would talk, sir, but just as if
he were alive and might come in at any moment, and it seems sometimes as
if it would drive me out of my mind."

"No doubt it is trying, my boy," Mr. Porson said; "but you see natures
differ, and we must all bear with each other and make allowances. Your
mother's nature, as far as I have seen of her, is not a deep one. She
was very fond of your father, and she is fond of you; but you know,
just as still waters run deep, shallow waters are full of ripples, and
eddies, and currents. She has no idea that what seems natural and
right to her should jar upon you. You upon your part can scarcely make
sufficient allowance for her different treatment of a subject which is
to you sacred. I know how you miss your father, but your mother must
miss him still more. No man ever more lovingly and patiently tended a
woman than he did her so far as lay in his power. She had not a wish
ungratified. You have in your work an employment which occupies your
thoughts and prevents them from turning constantly to one subject; she
has nothing whatever to take her thoughts from the past. It is better
for her to speak of him often than to brood over him in silence. Your
tribute to your father's memory is deep and silent sorrow, hers is
frequent allusions. Doubtless her way jars upon you; but, Ned, you are
younger than she, and it is easier for you to change. Why not