we be poorer, mother?" No.

"Oh!"

"But naturally things will be very different."

"Yes, naturally."

"For instance, your poor father liked being near London, but I almost
think we might move. Would you like that?"

"Of course, mummy." He looked down at the ground. He was not accustomed
to being consulted, and it bewildered him.

"Perhaps you might like quite a different life better?"

He giggled.

"It's a little difficult for me," said Mrs. Elliot, pacing vigorously up
and down the room, and more and more did her black dress seem a mockery.
"In some ways you ought to be consulted: nearly all the money is left to
you, as you must hear some time or other. But in other ways you're only
a boy. What am I to do?"

"I don't know," he replied, appearing more helpless and unhelpful than
he really was.

"For instance, would you like me to arrange things exactly as I like?"

"Oh do!" he exclaimed, thinking this a most brilliant suggestion.

"The very nicest thing of all." And he added, in his half-pedantic,
half-pleasing way, "I shall be as wax in your hands, mamma."

She smiled. "Very well, darling. You shall be." And she pressed him
lovingly, as though she would mould him into something beautiful.

For the next few days great preparations were in the air. She went to
see his father's sister, the gifted and vivacious Aunt Emily. They were
to live in the country--somewhere right in the country, with grass and
trees up to the door, and birds singing everywhere, and a tutor. For he
was not to go back to school. Unbelievable! He was never to go back to
school, and the head-master had written saying that he regretted the
step, but that possibly it was a wise one.

It was raw weather, and Mrs. Elliot watched over him with ceaseless
tenderness. It seemed as if she could not do too much to shield him and
to draw him nearer to her.

"Put on your greatcoat, dearest," she said to him.

"I don't think I want it," answered Rickie, remembering that he was now
fifteen.

"The wind is bitter. You ought to put it on."

"But it's so heavy."

"Do put it on, dear."

He was not very often irritable or rude, but he answered, "Oh, I shan't
catch cold. I do wish you wouldn't keep on bothering." He did not
catch cold, but while he was out his mother died. She only survived
her husband eleven days, a coincidence which was recorded on their
tombstone.

Such, in substance, was the story which Rickie told his friends as
they sto