Abram, shutting in the shutters, and fastening the door, sat down to a quiet evening’s reading, while his mother knitted and sewed,—­an evening the likeness of a thousand others of which they never tired; for this mother and son, to whom fate had dealt so hard a measure, upon whom the world had so persistently frowned, were more to each other than most mothers and sons whose lines had fallen in pleasanter places,—­compensation, as Mr. Emerson says, being the law of existence the world over.

CHAPTER III

  “Every one has his day, from which he dates.”

  OLD PROVERB

You see, Surrey, the school is something extra, and the performances, and it will please Clara no end; so I thought I’d run over, and inveigled you into going along for fear it should be stupid, and I would need some recreation.”

“Which I am to afford?”

“Verily.”

“As clown or grindstone?—­to make laugh, or sharpen your wits upon?”

“Far be it from me to dictate.  Whichever suits our character best.  On the whole, I think the last would be the most appropriate; the first I can swear wouldn’t!”

“Pourquoi?”

“O, a woman’s reason,—­because!”

“Because why?  Am I cross?”

“Not exactly.”

“Rough?”

“As usual,—­like a May breeze.”

“Cynical?”

“As Epicurus.”

“Irritable?”

“‘A countenance [and manner] more in sorrow than in anger.’  Something’s wrong with you; who is she?”

“She!”

“Ay,—­she.  That was a wise Eastern king who put at the bottom of every trouble and mischief a woman.”

“Fine estimate.”

“Correct one.  Evidently he had studied the genus thoroughly, and had a poor opinion of it.”

“No wonder.”

“Amazing! you say ‘no wonder’!  Astounding words! speak them again.”

“No wonder,—­seeing that he had a mother, and that she had such a son.  He must needs have been a bad fellow or a fool to have originated so base a philosophy, and how then could he respect the source of such a stream as himself?”

“Sir Launcelot,—­squire of dames!”

“Not Sir Launcelot, but squire of dames, I hope.”

“There you go again!  Now I shall query once more, who is she?”

“No woman.”

“No?”

“No, though by your smiling you would seem to say so!”

“Nay, I believe you, and am vastly relieved in the believing.  Take advice from ten years of superior age, and fifty of experience, and have naught to do with them.  Dost hear?”

“I do.”

“And will heed?”

“Which?—­the words or the acts of my counsellor? who, of a surety, preaches wisely and does foolishly, or who does wisely and preaches foolishly; for preaching and practice do not agree.”

“Nay, man, thou art unreasonable; to perform either well is beyond the capacity of most humans, and I desire not to be blessed above my betters.  Then let my rash deeds and my prudent words both be teachers unto thee.  But if it be true that no woman is responsible for your grave countenance this morning, then am I wasting words, and will return to our muttons.  What ails you?”