Now, you may say, what had this Mother been about, not to have found out and corrected Joachim’s fault before?  First, he was very little at home, and as owing to the help of others, his idleness had not become notorious, she had heard no complaints from the Masters, and thinking he did his lessons well, she felt averse to stopping his fun and amusements in holiday hours.  Still, she had latterly begun to have misgivings which this event confirmed.  In a few days Joachim was better, and came down stairs, and his Aunt and two or three Cousins called to enquire after him.  Their presence revived Joachim’s flagging spirits, and all the boys got together to talk and laugh.  Soon their voices echoed through the house.  Joachim was at his old tricks again, and the Schoolboys, the Ushers and the Master all furnished food for mirth.  His Cousins roared with delight.  “Clever child!” exclaimed his Aunt, “what a treasure you are in a house! one could never be dull where you are!” “Sister, Sister!” cried Joachim’s Mother, “do not say so!” “My dear,” said the Aunt, “are you dull enough to be unable to appreciate your own child’s wit; oh, I wish you would give him to me.  Come here, my dear Joachim, and do the boy that walks so badly once more for me; it’s enough to kill one to see you take him off!” Joachim’s spirits rose above all control.  Excited by his Aunt’s praise and the sense of superior ability, he surpassed himself.  He gave the bad walker to perfection; then imitated a lad who had commenced singing lessons, and whose voice was at present broken and bad.  He even gave the big boy’s lisp once more, and followed on with a series of pantomimic exhibitions.

All at once, he cast his eyes on his Mother’s face—­that face so full of intelligence and the mild sorrow of years of widowhood, borne with resigned patience.  Her eyes were full of tears, and there was not a smile on her countenance.  Joachim’s conscience—­he knew not why—­twinged him terribly.  He stopped suddenly; “Mother!”

“Come here, Joachim!” He came.

“Is that boy whom you have been imitating—­your Aunt says so cleverly—­the best walker of all the boys in your school?”

“The best, Mother?” and the puzzled Joachim could not suppress a smile.  His Cousins grinned.

“Dear Mother, of course not,” continued Joachim, “on the contrary, he is the very worst!”

“Oh—­well, have you no good walkers at your school?”

“Oh yes, several; indeed one especially; his father was a soldier, he walks beautifully.”

“Does he, Joachim?  Let me see you walk like him, my dear.”

Joachim stepped boldly enough into the middle of the room, and drew himself up; but a sudden consciousness of his extreme inferiority to the soldier’s son, both in figure, manner and mode of walking, made him feel quite sheepish.  There was a pause of expectation.

“Now then!” said Joachim’s Mother.