r, before he
became fairly happy. For the present, however, he was supremely so, and
his aunt was happy and grateful for his happiness, the improvement she
saw in him, and his unrepressed affection for herself. She became fonder
of him from day to day in spite of his many faults and almost incredible
foolishnesses. It was perhaps on account of these very things that she
saw how much he had need of her; but at any rate, from whatever cause,
she became strengthened in her determination to be to him in the place of
parents, and to find in him a son rather than a nephew. But still she
made no will.

CHAPTER XXXV

All went well for the first part of the following half year. Miss
Pontifex spent the greater part of her holidays in London, and I also saw
her at Roughborough, where I spent a few days, staying at the "Swan." I
heard all about my godson in whom, however, I took less interest than I
said I did. I took more interest in the stage at that time than in
anything else, and as for Ernest, I found him a nuisance for engrossing
so much of his aunt's attention, and taking her so much from London. The
organ was begun, and made fair progress during the first two months of
the half year. Ernest was happier than he had ever been before, and was
struggling upwards. The best boys took more notice of him for his aunt's
sake, and he consorted less with those who led him into mischief.

But much as Miss Pontifex had done, she could not all at once undo the
effect of such surroundings as the boy had had at Battersby. Much as he
feared and disliked his father (though he still knew not how much this
was), he had caught much from him; if Theobald had been kinder Ernest
would have modelled himself upon him entirely, and ere long would
probably have become as thorough a little prig as could have easily been
found.

Fortunately his temper had come to him from his mother, who, when not
frightened, and when there was nothing on the horizon which might cross
the slightest whim of her husband, was an amiable, good-natured woman. If
it was not such an awful thing to say of anyone, I should say that she
meant well.

Ernest had also inherited his mother's love of building castles in the
air, and--so I suppose it must be called--her vanity. He was very fond
of showing off, and, provided he could attract attention, cared little
from whom it came, nor what it was for. He caught up, parrot-like,
whatever jargon he heard fro