Through Robin!  Yes, surely that was her way to God.  “A little child shall lead them.”  The words started up in her mind without their context, and she realized that, though people believe it is the mother who teaches the child, nevertheless the mother learns the greatest truths from the child.  Who living on the earth could keep her from sin as surely as her Robin?  How could she be evil when Robin looked to her as the embodiment of goodness.  What would she not do, what would she not give up, to increase Robin’s love for her, to give him more reason for regarding her with innocent confidence and simple reverence?

Yes, Robin was surely her way to God.

And now, withdrawn into the very depths of meditation, and hearing no longer the distant voices of the rooks as they wheeled about the elm-tops near Canon Wilton’s house, she went onwards down the way chosen for her by God, the “Robin-way.”

Now Robin was a young child, and naturally looked up to her as a kind of Providence.  Presently he would be a lad; inevitably he would reach the age when the growing mind becomes critical.  Young animals gnaw hard things to test the strength of their teeth; so do young growing minds gnaw the bones that come in their way.  Even the mother comes in for much secret criticism from the son who loves her.  Rosamund’s time for being criticized by Robin would come in the course of the years.  She must try to get ready against that time; she must try to be worthy of Robin’s love when he was able to be critical.  And so onwards down the way across the gray expanse, guided, like the birds!

Rosamund saw herself now as the mother of a tall son, hardened a little by public-school life, a cricketer, a rower, a swimmer; perhaps intellectual too, the winner of a scholarship.  There were so many hearts and minds that the mother of a son must learn to keep, to companion, to influence, to go forward with:  the heart and the mind of the child, the schoolboy, the undergraduate, the young man out in the world taking up his life-task—­a soldier perhaps, or a man of learning, a pioneer, a carver of new ways for the crowd following behind.

It was a tremendous thing to be a mother; it was a difficult way to God.  But it was the most beautiful way of all the ways, and Rosamund was very thankful that she had been guided to take it.  Robin, she knew, had taught her already very much, but how little compared with all that he was destined to teach her in the future!  Even when her hair was white no doubt she would still be learning from him, would still be trying to lift herself a little higher lest he should ever have to look downward to see her.

For a long time she meditated on these things, for a very long while.  The sun never came back to the garden as she dreamed of the sun which the birds were seeking, of the sun which she and Dion and Robin were seeking; the afternoon hours passed on in a gray procession; the chimes sounded many times, but she did not hear them.  She had forgotten Welsley in remembering how small a part Welsley must play in her mother-life, in remembering how very small were the birds in the immense expanse of the sky.