but beyond that, every feature kept its usual calm.

A shadow fell on his mother's face, and for several minutes
she stood and he sat in perfect silence; he not stirring his
eyes from the fire, she not moving hers from him. When she
spoke, the tone was changed, and though quiet he felt the
trouble in it.

"What sort of a somebody, Winthrop?"

"Mamma," he said, "I can't live here! I want to know more and
to be more than I can here. I can, I am sure, if I only can
find a way; and I am sure I can find a way. It is in me, and
it will come out. I don't want anybody to give me any help,
nor to think of me; I can work my own way, if you'll only let
me and not be troubled about me."

He had risen from his chair to speak this. His mother kept her
face in the shadow and said quietly,

"What way will you take, Winthrop?"

"I don't know, ma'am, yet; I haven't found out."

"Do you know the difficulties in the way?"

"No, mother."

It was said in the tone not of proud but of humble
determination.