and laying her needlework aside to re-arrange
the pans and kettles on the hearth. This restlessness was so unusual
that Taffy, seated in the ingle with a book on his knee, had half
raised his head to twit her when he felt a hand laid softly on his
hair, and looked up into his mother's eyes.

"Taffy, should you like to go to Oxford?"

"Don't, mother!"

"But you can." The tears in her eyes answered his at once.
She turned to his father. "Tell him!"

"Yes, my boy, you can go," said Mr. Raymond; "that is, if you can win
a scholarship. Your mother and I have been talking it over."

"But--" Taffy began, and could get no further.

"We have money enough--with care," said Mr. Raymond.

But the boy's eyes were on his mother. Her cheeks, usually so pale,
were flushed; but she turned her face away and walked slowly back to
her chair. "The lace-work," he heard her say: "I have been saving--
from the beginning--"

"For this?" He followed and took her hand. With the other she
covered her eyes; but nodded.

"O mother--mother!" He knelt and let his brow drop on her lap.
She ceased to weep; her palms rested on his bowed head, but now and
then her body shook. And but for the ticking of the tall clock there
was silence in the room.

It was wonderful; and the wonder of it grew when they recovered
themselves and fell to discussing their plans. In spite of his
idolatry, Mr. Raymond could not help remembering certain slights
which he, a poor miller's son, had undergone at Christ Church.
He had chosen Magdalen, which Taffy knew to be the most beautiful of
all the colleges; and the news that his name had been entered on the
college books for years past gave him a delicious shock. It was now
July. He would matriculate in the October term, and in January enter
for a demyship. But (the marvels followed so fast on each other's
heels) there would be an examination held in ten days' time--actually
in ten days' time--a "certificate" examination, Mr. Raymond called
it--which would excuse the boy not only the ordinary Matriculation
test, but Responsions too. And, in short, Taffy was to pack his box
and go.

"But the subjects?"

"You have been reading them and the prescribed books for four months
past. And I have had sets of the old papers by me for a guide.
Your mathematics are shaky--but I think you should do well enough."

It was now Humility's turn, and the discussion plunged among shirts
and collars. Never had evenin