do a praiseworthy act, for instance, when you kick over the heathen's
stone gods and leave him without any at all? You may not have noticed
it, but I have--that it is easier to pull down an idol than it is to
rear an ideal. I have had idols shattered myself, and I haven't found
that the pedestals they used to occupy have been rented since. They are
there yet and empty--standing as monuments to what once seemed good to
me--and I'm no happier nor no better for being disillusioned. So it is
with my mother. I let her go on and think me perfect. It does her good,
and it does me good because it makes me try to live up to that idea of
hers as to what I am. If she had the same opinion of me that we all have
she'd be the most miserable woman in the world."

"We don't all think so badly of you," said the Doctor, rather softened
by the Idiot's remarks.

"No," put in the Bibliomaniac. "You are all right. You breathe normally,
and you have nice blue eyes. You are graceful and pleasant to look upon,
and if you'd been born dumb we'd esteem you very highly. It is only your
manners and your theories that we don't like; but even in these we are
disposed to believe that you are a well-meaning child."

"That is precisely the way to put it," assented the School-master. "You
are harmless even when most annoying. For my own part, I think the most
objectionable feature about you is that you suffer from that
unfortunately not uncommon malady, extreme youth. You are young for your
age, and if you only wouldn't talk, I think we should get on famously
together."

"You overwhelm me with your compliments," said the Idiot. "I am sorry I
am so young, but I cannot be brought to believe that that is my own