“Philip, how can you be so unkind?  You know we are only trying to do our best for you, and we know that we have no experience; it isn’t as if we’d had any children of our own:  that’s why we consulted Mr. Perkins.”  Her voice broke.  “I’ve tried to be like a mother to you.  I’ve loved you as if you were my own son.”

She was so small and frail, there was something so pathetic in her old-maidish air, that Philip was touched.  A great lump came suddenly in his throat and his eyes filled with tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t mean to be beastly.”

He knelt down beside her and took her in his arms, and kissed her wet, withered cheeks.  She sobbed bitterly, and he seemed to feel on a sudden the pity of that wasted life.  She had never surrendered herself before to such a display of emotion.

“I know I’ve not been what I wanted to be to you, Philip, but I didn’t know how.  It’s been just as dreadful for me to have no children as for you to have no mother.”

Philip forgot his anger and his own concerns, but thought only of consoling her, with broken words and clumsy little caresses.  Then the clock struck, and he had to bolt off at once to catch the only train that would get him back to Tercanbury in time for call-over.  As he sat in the corner of the railway carriage he saw that he had done nothing.  He was angry with himself for his weakness.  It was despicable to have allowed himself to be turned from his purpose by the pompous airs of the Vicar and the tears of his aunt.  But as the result of he knew not what conversations between the couple another letter was written to the headmaster.  Mr. Perkins read it with an impatient shrug of the shoulders.  He showed it to Philip.  It ran: 

Dear Mr. Perkins,

Forgive me for troubling you again about my ward, but both his Aunt and I have been uneasy about him.  He seems very anxious to leave school, and his Aunt thinks he is unhappy.  It is very difficult for us to know what to do as we are not his parents.  He does not seem to think he is doing very well and he feels it is wasting his money to stay on.  I should be very much obliged if you would have a talk to him, and if he is still of the same mind perhaps it would be better if he left at Christmas as I originally intended. 
                        Yours very truly,
                                              William Carey.

Philip gave him back the letter.  He felt a thrill of pride in his triumph.  He had got his own way, and he was satisfied.  His will had gained a victory over the wills of others.

“It’s not much good my spending half an hour writing to your uncle if he changes his mind the next letter he gets from you,” said the headmaster irritably.

Philip said nothing, and his face was perfectly placid; but he could not prevent the twinkle in his eyes.  Mr. Perkins noticed it and broke into a little laugh.