He looked up quickly and smiled, one of those smiles which his
mother saw oftener than anybody, but she not often, -- a smile
very revealing in its character, -- and said,

"Don't ask me, mamma."

"Who should ask you, if not I?"

"There is no need to trouble you with it, mother."

"You can't help that -- it will trouble me now, whether I know
it or not; for I see it is something that troubles you."

"You have too good eyes, mother," he said smiling again, but a
different smile.

"My ears are just as good."

"Mamma, I don't want to displease you," he said looking up.

"You can't do that -- you never did yet, Winthrop, my boy," she
answered, bending down again and this time her lips to his
forehead. "Speak -- I am not afraid."

He was silent a moment, and then mastering himself as it were
with some difficulty, he said,

"Mamma, I want to be somebody!"

The colour flushed back and forth on his face, once and again,