studying him closely.

No; none of this was true yet. It might never be true. First, he must be
put to the test. The man smiling there was sternly going to draw out of
him what was in him. He was going to examine him and see what he
amounted to. And if he amounted to nothing, then what?

He sat there shy, silent, afraid, all the hardy boldness and business
preparedness and fighting capacity of the streets gone out of his mind
and heart. He looked across at his mother; not even she could help him.

So there settled upon him that terror of uncertainty about their gift
and their fate which is known only to the children of genius. For
throughout the region of art, as in the world of the physical, nature
brings forth all things from the seat of sensitiveness and the young of
both worlds appear on the rough earth unready.

"You _do_ wish to come?" the choir-master persisted in asking.

"Yes, sir," he replied barely, as though the words sealed his fate.

The visitor was gone, and they had talked everything over, and the
evening had ended, and it was long past his bedtime, and she waited for
him to come from the bedroom and say good night. Presently he ran in,
climbed into her lap, threw his arms around her neck and pressed his
cheek against hers.

"Now on this side," he said, holding her tightly, "and now on the other
side, and now on both sides and all around."